Trick or Treat My Ass
by D'Fuentes
Summary: It's Halloween again and Mikey drags his brothers out of the lair with the intent of keeping a long lost tradition. However, as old memories are dug up, a young man finds himself thrown into a nightmarish series of events.
1. Michelangelo's Memory: Cookies

_I do not own anything that was created by Eastman and Laird, nor Alice in Wonderland. _

_I only own this plot._

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><p><strong><span>Michelangelo's Memory: Cookies<span>**

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><p>Donatello sat hunched over the computer, pretty much contented with looking like an immortalized stone-gargoyle, guarding the glowing monitor. He was enthralled by the latest findings posted inside of an online engineering magazine, and thought what the researchers felt when they found out that their work was being published in the unnecessarily glossed over pages. Then he found himself dreaming of having his work and theories idolized in the 'book of scientists'. Without adieu, he quickly dismissed the thought because it was deemed an unrealistic goal, in his situation. He scoffed at their limited inferences and inferior research methods. Not to mention their lack of respect for the laws of physics and other data that would have served as a buffer for the gaps in their published work.<p>

_I could do better than this._ He had discovered his newest project. He snapped his fingers, stretched his hands forward, and cracked his fingers in the process. That was when he noticed just how quiet the lair was. The silence was deafening; that was until he cracked his knuckles and interrupted the soundless air. _Weird._ He immediately turned in his chair to look for his family members who were supposed to be around. The only time they're ever quiet is when they were absent, or meditating with Master Splinter.

His brown eyes sought out and found the mutated rat, and his most committed student, Leonardo. The two were engrossed in books and sat opposite one another in the living room area. Or what served as their living room in their home. Ease swept over him when he saw that those two were actually enjoying some down time. Things were quite hairy lately with all the gang activities, and the recent near miss they had with a bank robbery. Things turned ugly that night, when one of the men somehow managed to impale himself on Leonardo's katana. Donatello shuddered, as he remembered the details clearly.

He then turned to look for the other two turtles that were missing from his vantage point. The red-masked ninja was nowhere to be seen; most likely in the garage working on his bike. He was determined to have the five hundred pound vehicle in the best working condition before taking it out on the road again. His Bo-staff wielding brother would have been assisting him, but Donatello felt that Raphael was in his general antisocial mood today. He had made that clear to him when Klunk made a mistake and rubbed against his foot, which resulted in a very loud; "No, go bother someone else!"

_Poor cat._ The purple-masked turtle had laughed at the scene, and watched his brother stalk off towards the dojo. Now the only other person unaccounted was the infamous Michelangelo. What that particular warrior was up to? He had no clue. He did however, have a feeling that he was a bit too quiet on this particular day. There was this rising sensation that the silence wasn't going to last for long. The feeling deepened and Donatello turned around in time to hear the turtle in question's voice bellow from above.

"Guys!" Michelangelo jumped from his perch on the upper level of the lair, and did a back flip before he alighted on both feet on the ground. He stuck the landing and smirked mischievously. "Why are we still here?" He walked towards Leonardo and Splinter who kept their heads buried in their books to deliberately ignore the terrapin. He nudged Leonardo's foot with his toe, "Dude, why are we still here?" he waved his hand about and turned to look at Donatello.

Donatello grimaced, and turned his back on him. He honestly did not want to know what idea Mike came up with. Every year on this date, the constantly cheerful turtle would have an epiphany and suggest the same thing for them to do. For the past few years he was shut down, like a saucer being blown out of the sky by a rifle.

"Donny, we should be out there, up top, where _all_ the action is," he stated boisterously.

_Just ignore him. Just ignore him. Just ignore him._ Don chanted in his mind to numb out Michelangelo's voice.

"Just this once. Come on guys. It'll be fun. This will be our last chance to enjoy our youth like we used to. For the sake of tradition, let's just go okay. Please, I'm begging you," the orange-masked turtle turned his body back and forth between Donatello and Leonardo, staring at them imploringly. The purple-masked turtle didn't need to see his brother to guess what he looked like at the moment, and leaned his face closer to the computer screen to pretend that he was lost to the outside world. No matter how much he imagined himself being pulled into the cyber world, his sibling's rants kept him firmly planted in reality.

Splinter's ears twitched as he slowly lowered the book and gently placed it in his lap. "Michelangelo, your brothers do not wish to go out tonight, and I forbid you from going on your own just for this night. However, I suggest you find something more constructive to occupy yourself with, perhaps some katas maybe," he opened his paw at the turtle as an invitation to take up the task.

His son's body stiffened at the suggestion, and he stifled the verbal protest that automatically wanted to fly from his mouth. "Er...no thanks Sensei. I only brought it up because I remembered when you took us out a couple times to this one place. A Mrs. Johnson, was it?"

"Yes, Mrs. Gloria Sanchez-Johnson," Splinter nodded and confirmed the name, before he stood up; indicating that he had given up trying to read his book.

_That name._ Donatello's attention perked up when he heard it. He remembered her. Not much, but their sliver of interactions with her was enough not to forget. Her voice, the smell and warmth of her home came flooding back to Donatello as if he was reliving the experience. It was the first time they ever came into contact with a human being, and actually saw what it was like in a home other than their own. Their senses were taken to a whole new level with the drastic change of environment. He remembered the smell of homemade cookies.

He turned just in time to see Leonardo lower his book and look up at Michelangelo with a confused expression. "Isn't that the lady we used to go trick-or-treating by?"

"Yeah," the other ninja quickly replied; his face lit up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. "I was thinking, maybe we could pass by tonight. You know, for old time's sake. She was always so nice to us in the past. Giving us tons of homemade goodies; inviting us in, telling us stories that I don't remember at all. It's a shame that we forgot about her. She's probably pretty old by now...what if she's -" Michelangelo's eyes narrowed for a moment before they fell on Master Splinter's careful gaze. "Nah, she's probably just pretty old by now, 'cause Master Splinter's still here," the turtle blurted out without a thought.

Donatello and Leonardo winced at his words, and witnessed the wooden cane's impact on the orange clad ninja's head.

"Ouch, sorry. I didn't mean it that way!" Their brother protested, nursing the top of his head.

Master Splinter regarded the younger mutant with a weary look, and shook his head. "I know you didn't," he supplied coolly, "but I don't think it is wise for you to go and 'visit' her after all these years. The last time she saw you, you were but three feet in height, and adorable by her standards. Now you're much older and larger; too old for trick-or-treating. You'll scare the poor woman. Besides, although it is nice of you to keep an old friend in mind, Michelangelo, she may not even remember you. To her, you all were nothing but neighborhood trick-or-treaters who showed up at her doorsteps for a few minutes each year. That ended when you were seven; therefore I have reason to believe that you all were long forgotten. Just as you four had forgotten about her." The finality in his voice meant that he didn't want to pursue the discussion with the orange-masked turtle, and he excused himself from the room.

Donatello, along with his other two siblings; watched silently as their father left the area before starting up the conversation again. He knew that the mutant rat was bothered by the subject, since he broke one of his golden rules for Halloween in those seven years of their existence. Also, the feeling was probably complimented by the fact that Mrs. Johnson was in every way a dear friend of his, whom he was forced to abandon due to unprecedented circumstances. Too many dangers existed on the surface.

"Bros, come on. It's Halloween for crying out loud. The only day in the year we get to roam the streets freely, and walk on the surface like all the humans do. One day, no actually it's one night. We skipped the last two years, so we could afford to go up this year. Besides, we're only doing it to say hi to that sweet little old lady," Mikey pleaded his case with conviction, looking down at an uninterested blue-masked terrapin.

Donatello rolled his eyes at his persistent brother and returned to his thesis. He felt that his input was not worth the effort on that particular turtle.

"Mikey, I agree with Master Splinter. I don't think that we should go up there just to _drop by_ Mrs. Johnson. It's too dangerous, plus we've got a lot of enemies. Can't take the chance of risking her safety over one of your whimsical ideas," Leonardo pointed out, and ducked his head back into his book.

Michelangelo let out a frustrated growl, and immediately switched his voice back to his positive chipper, "You know, we may get some of her wonderful homemade cookies." He resorted to bribery to get his brother's to yield to his requests. It was something that initiated the annual outings to the surface; under the guise as costumed humans.

Donatello couldn't take it anymore and interjected his two cents worth on the subject matter, "Is she even still alive?" His voice was seethed in exasperation as he spoke. He also spun his chair around to face his orange-masked brother, "Even if she was still alive, how would you know if she still lived there. She could have moved to a retirement home when age caught up with her."

The orange-masked turtle raised an eye ridge at Donatello, "Seriously, what have we got to lose? If she's there, we'll get all that warm delicious homemade stuff that's making my mouth water just by thinking about them. I hope she remembers me, I mean who could forget a green face like this?" he flashed a broad grin. "So, who's up for paying her a visit?" the turtle's hand shot straight up into the air, as he waited for his other supporters.

Their little 'court room' got overturned when a particular individual entered the area. "I am. I have no idea what you're talking about, but I definitely heard the words 'warm', 'delicious', and 'homemade'. I'm there," Raph sauntered into the room carrying an old filter that he had replaced. Some mucky black substance transferred to his thick fingers as he rotated the device in his hands. He was unconcerned with the trouble he stirred up by making that statement.

Joy erupted from Michelangelo when he heard that Raphael was actually agreeing to do something with him; especially on a night like this. "Awesome! Thanks bro. I'm sure Mrs. Johnson would appreciate you doing this," his joy bubbled out like lava threatening to scorch the group. Donatello palmed his face, and Raph blanched when he realized what he did.

"What? Whoa-whoa, hold up. I thought you were talking about April. Who the heck is Mrs. Johnson?" a baffled Raph dropped the clogged filter on the floor as Michelangelo pushed him towards the exit.

"No, Master Splinter said that you can't go Michelangelo," Leonardo jumped up from the couch and walked towards the pair.

"_Au contraire, _Leonardo_. _He said that I _can't_ go on my own, but Raph here agreed to go with me. So you and Donny can stay home doing nothing all night, while Raph and I eat our hearts out," the turtle corrected his brother with a smirk on his face. Leonardo frowned and stepped back from him.

"Who the hell is Mrs. Johnson, and why is she going to feed us?" Raph asked yanking the orange-masked turtle's hand off his shell.

Mikey latched back on to it with his other hand and pushed the red-masked ninja through the elevator doors, "Remember when we were little kids and Master Splinter used to take us up to the surface every Halloween?"

Raph stared at his brother Mike blankly, so the turtle carried on. "Well, the only house we used to visit was Mrs. Johnson's place," he explained as the elevator doors closed on them.

"You mean she's still alive!" the red-masked ninja scrunched up his face in disbelief, and stared Michelangelo as if he had lost it.

"That's what I said," Donatello chuckled and waved at a wide eyed Raphael from the outside of the closing doors. Suddenly they were stopped by Leonardo's foot. The _genius_ grimaced in fear, anticipating the next set of orders his brother was about to deal out. Rolling his neck, he groaned in protest at the katana wielding warrior, "Leo, no."

"Get in Donatello, we're going too," he asserted.

"I knew you couldn't resist!" Michelangelo did a fist pump, and received a smack upside the head for it. He flinched and took a side step away from his assaulter.

"No. We're going to keep you out of trouble. There will absolutely be _no_ trick-or-treating or whatsoever tonight, Mikey. I mean it. We're going to that woman's house, say hello and find ourselves back here. Got it?" Leonardo directed at Mike, and waited patiently for Donatello to enter the elevator.

_I hate you all._ Don scowled at the blue-masked ninja; half wanting to make a dash for it; but his code of honor prevented it. He was bound to his brothers by loyalty, and he also knew that his orange-masked sibling was a ticking time bomb, just set to go off the moment he hit the surface and saw the activities of the cursed holiday. He'd disappear from them in a flash; drawn to the affair of soliciting candy like a moth hypnotized by a candle flame.

Michelangelo folded his arms across his plastron and scoffed at Leo's remark, while Don stood there deciding if he should seal his fate with them.

"We'll see," came Mike's response.

Frustration crossed Leonardo's face as he chose to ignore Michelangelo, and he narrowed his eyes at the reluctant purple-clad ninja, "Don, come on."

"Donny, get your ass in here now. If I'm gonna be stuck all by myself with these two for the rest of the night, then I'll make sure that your experiments find a new home down at the bottom of the Hudson," Raphael threatened with a semi-hidden, yet beseeching look in his eyes.

Conceding to his brothers' wishes; Donatello begrudgingly stepped into the elevator; which marked the beginning of a very long, nerve rattling night. "I'd like to see you try, Raph. Just try," he warned the red-masked turtle through clenched teeth, but it was received by an all too smug turtle.

"Heh," Raphael snorted and slapped him on the shoulder. "If I'm going to be tortured, then so are you," he poked Donatello in the plastron, which Don batted away in irritation.

_Yeah you keep smiling Raph. Keep smiling. When Michelangelo's done, you're not going to have that stupid smug written on your face. _

"Oh come on guys. It'll be great. I promise!" Michelangelo piped, grinning as wide as the Cheshire cat from 'Alice in Wonderland'. Donatello glanced at the turtle that was definitely in a _Wonderland _that only existed inside of his enigma of a brain.


	2. The 1st Encounter

**The First Encounter: Costumes don't move that way**.

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><p>Samson Rodriguez stared at the strange kids who just stood there on his porch with gaping mouths, and couldn't blame them for not tearing their eyes away from his Gran. She was an average height woman of Taino [1] descent, probably the only one of her kind living in the U.S. and she wore a long dark mauve flowered skirt that made her seem larger than life. She was also wearing a frilly white cotton blouse, which billowed about her like a fluffy cloud each time she moved. The beaded chains around her neck bounced and jingled with the slightest shift, making her sound like an off tuned wind chime. Her thinning dark hair was now eighty percent grey, and was left hanging loosely down her shoulders.<p>

He took cover behind her voluminous skirt as she greeted the strange trick-or-treaters. The rat bowed and twitched his tail nervously, but maintained a guarded gaze. "Oh how adorable," the old woman clapped her hands together and beamed down at the four little green frogs. "These are the best frog costumes I have ever seen in my entire life. Aren't you four precious?" She raised her head to look at the youngster in the rodent disguise, "and you. That's quite a costume you've got there as well. Was it custom made? It's quite detailed."

Samson clutched the material of her skirt as the stranger opened his muzzle to speak. Costumes are not supposed to do that, but his grandmother paid no attention.

"Yes. They were costumes that were supposed to be used in an old film. The producers never got the project on screen, so they auctioned off all the props. I bought them for me and my sons," his mouth moved with each word, and it only made Samson more nervous.

"Oh, you're not a child. I just assumed that you were -" She waved her hand and if to shoo away her words and blushed from embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that they were your sons."

"That is alright. I do not get offended that easily, rest assured. I believe my sons were supposed to say 'Trick-or-Treat'." He nudged one of the frogs with an olive green hue, "My sons, say something to this nice lady so that we can be on our way."

The little frogs gasped, and pulled their faces into sheepish smiles, mumbling the phrase. They didn't even pronounce the words properly, Samson noticed.

"This is their first time out on Halloween," the rat explained, offering the old lady an apologetic look.

Grabbing the basket from the door side table, she scooped up a handful of cookies, individually wrapped in clear plastic, along with other homemade snacks. "Here you go. I made them myself. They're much better than those store bought products. Too much chemicals in those. That can't be good for people right," she plopped one of each item into the plastic bags the four frogs carried. "My Grandson Samson favors the cookies the most. You would like those." She paused to study the four toddlers closely. "How old are they?"

"They will be four early next year. Three and a half to be more specific," the stranger's muzzle moved with his words, which made Samson stick his head out even further to get a closer look. _Was he a monster?_

Gran shifted a bit, feeling her grandson's weight on her skirt, and tried to reach for him from behind. She missed when the boy ducked, "A quadruplet, how nice."

One of the frogs scrunched up their face at the word, and the others stared at her as if she was mad.

Oblivious to their looks, she continued, "Samson's six." Her hand flew behind her skirt once more and she tugged on Samson's sleeve to pull him out front. She succeeded at dragging him out from his refuge. "Come here Samson, don't be so shy. Check out these costumes. Aren't they wonderful," she nudged him slightly with her hand.

The boy frowned at his grandmother's actions, and tried to press himself back into her skirt. "He's just shy," she told the rat. "This is Samson. He wanted to be a pirate this year, so I made his costume. My name is Gloria Sanchez-Johnson. You can call me Gloria."

He nodded, "I am Hamato Splinter. It is a pleasure to meet you and your grandson Mrs. Johnson." Then the rat looked at the dark haired boy, who was staring fearfully back at him with one eye. The other was covered by a lopsided eye patch. "These are my sons; Michelangelo," he pointed to the one that was on the frontline, and then to the olive green one, "Donatello, Raphael, and Leonardo." The last two stood closest to their father, with Leonardo almost plastered to his side, and Raphael clutching a very mucky teddy bear in a death grip.

If it were a living creature, all of its brain matter might have been oozing out of its nose, eyes, and ears. Samson smiled weakly, and gave them a quick wave, "Hi." That was the only word he could spit out of his mouth at the time.

"What interesting names!" His grandmother piped; and started a gushing feminine rant. "You must be so proud of your sons to give them such inspirational names."

The short old man in the rat costume smiled, revealing rows of teeth and bowed, "I am indeed. Thank you for your time Mrs. Johnson, but we must leave you now. I have to get them back home in time. It is much too late to be out here...not safe either."

"Oh dear, I agree with you. I better not keep you back them. It was nice meeting you and your boys, Hamato Splinter. I hope to see you around soon. Don't be afraid to drop by anytime. My door is always open," she carried on joyfully.

The rodent looked shocked at her open invitation, and hesitated before speaking. "Thank you, but I'm afraid you won't be seeing much of us after tonight. We do not live here, we're only visiting." His voice stressed on the word 'here' as if to emphasize a hidden meaning to it.

Gloria's brows arched in surprise, and she reached out for her basket once more. "Well if that's the case then, you should have some more goodies. I have lots more in the kitchen," she shared the entire basket among the four trick-or-treaters, and rewarded each of them with a pat on the head. They flinched when her skin made contact with their costumes and Samson narrowed his eyes at them suspiciously. "Such nice costumes," she smiled warmly gathering her arms to herself.

"Wow, so much food," the grassy green frog called Michelangelo beamed, sticking his head into his plastic bag.

"I've never seen so much -" the deeper shade green frog began, but his father cleared his throat to cut him off.

"What do you say to one who has been so kind as to offer you something to eat?" The fatherly voice was accompanied by an expectant expression.

The four little frogs ducked their heads shamefacedly and shifted nervously on their stubby legs, digging their right big toes into the other. Samson figured that it was probably a quadruplet thing; like twins.

"Thank you," they chorused, and received a nod of approval from their father.

"You are very welcome my dears," Mrs. Johnson clutched at her heart as if she was having a very happy heart attack.

"Goodbye Mrs. Johnson, Samson," the rat's head bowed again, and he placed his hands on his kids' shoulders. "Bid good night to Samson and Mrs. Johnson little ones," he instructed his youngsters.

An all too relieved Leonardo breathed and waved, smiling honestly for the first time, "'Night Samson, 'Night Mrs. J'nson." He stepped back to decrease the distance between him and his father.

Smiling widely, Raphael squeezed his teddy's neck once more with the plastic bag tightly wrapped around it and said, "G'night. Bye." He turned and hopped down from the porch, indicating that he was ready to go. Samson cocked his head to one side; baffled by the turtle shell on the frog's costume.

"Good night," Donatello smiled, willingly retreating with his father's touch, while the other frog-turtle boy grinned broadly.

Splinter rocked him slightly, trying to get the toddler to move. "Michelangelo, we must go now," the rat urged.

"I like you," Michelangelo piped cheerfully, earning a hearty laugh from Gloria. "An' you too Samyson, b' bye," he finally allowed his father to pull him away from the door.

Samson shrugged at the little odd child and said, "Okay, bye." He was overly eager to have them leave. The more he saw the mouths of their supposedly costumes move, the more he wanted to hide, but he didn't want to leave his grandmother alone with the door open to the world outside. The place where these five failed movie characters roamed. He wondered if that's what they were; costumes that came to life on Halloween. Was this the reason his grandmother refused to let him go out trick-or-treating?

"Good bye little ones, Hamato Splinter," she wished them well, and watched as the five made their way back to the street. "Come on Samson, let's finish wrapping those other cookies," she said shutting off his view of the strangers.

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><p>[1] The <strong>Taínos<strong> were pre-Columbian inhabitants of the Bahamas, Greater Antilles, and the northern Lesser Antilles. It is thought that the seafaring Taínos, are relatives of the Arawak people of South America. (FYI - courtesy Wikipedia.)


	3. They're Back: I

**They're back: In the same suits; only bigger. (I)**

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><p>The sound of the old grating doorbell caught him on top of the staircase that sat between freshly painted green walls. The acrylic scent burnt his nose as he inhaled sighing, and turned to go back down to the brown oak door. The bell rang again, telling him that he was moving too slow for his age. Something Gloria would have surely said.<p>

Samson scrubbed the side of his face with the palm of his hand in irritation. _What could they possible want again? The candy's done. Maybe I should put up a sign._ _I don't know how she put up with this? This is no fun. The kids are getting greedier and greedier. I swear I saw the same group of kids at least five times tonight. Why'd they invent Halloween anyway?_ He took his merry time to get to the bottom of the stairs, and reached for the door knob just as the bell rang again. It set him off, and he yanked the door open; armed with a steady glare.

"Trick-or-Treat!" a chorus of unbroken high-pitched voices screamed at him, slapping the glare straight away from his face. He frowned at the six youngsters that held their decorated bags out for goodies. If they weren't dressed in ridiculous costumes, they could have passed for characters from Oliver Twist or the Lost Boys from Peter Pan maybe.

"Sorry kids. I have no more candy. Come earlier next year," he said to the ghost, Count Dracula, Superman, Bumblebee, Thor and a turtle that wore a mask around his head. His eyes locked on the little boy that was dressed as a turtle. The six characters sighed loudly in disappointment, and turned to jump off the porch. They grumbled under their breaths saying something about not listening to the turtle anymore, and going with what Batman says. Apparently they were anarchists as well, and they just voted the turtle off the board, due to poor navigation skills. He didn't locate a place with the goods.

Samson kept his focus on the kid as memories came rushing back to him. Ones of little green people; or frogs with shells on their back. He studied the child more, and realized that his costume was different. He was not wearing a full head piece as you could see the child's entire face.

"You suck," the turtle turned his head around and stuck a tongue out at him.

Samson smirked at him, and shut the door to block out the chaotic world out there with busied candy hunters. He returned to the staircase, when a strong pulse made him look down at his cell phone, and he pulled it out instinctively.

"Samson here," he answered taking a seat on the stair. He flicked at the paint that was still on his fingers of the free hand.

"Yo, Sammy," a male voice drawled in his ear. The low coarse voice belonged to his college friend Nick. He rolled his eyes as his friend's lazy voice made a few unidentifiable sounds before forming actual words. "Guess what!" He shouted through the earpiece making Samson wince. The sound of strange car horns and beeps were heard in the background.

"Nick? What's up? Where are you this time?" He straightened himself up; feeling rather interested in what his displaced, alcohol-preserved friend had to say.

There was a long pause, and the sound changed from ruckus to the melodies of music. "Heh. I'm at a club. It's absolutely awesome," the drunkenness spoke.

Samson craned his neck in the direction of the loud thud that came from upstairs. He groaned, not bothering to go up and check on the sound since he had a fair idea of what was happening.

"You should really come out here Sammy. It's wicked! There are these girls in these colorful gears, doing these weird dances. It's mad!" Nick piped in a slurred tone.

Another thump came from upstairs followed by the crack of a whip. Samson cringed in disgust, and pounded his fist on the wall. "Hey, cut it out up there!" He heard Nick curse in his ear.

"Man, who's that you're talking to? I think you just killed my ear," Nick complained.

"Sorry. You were saying?" He continued; avoiding the direction the conversation was headed.

A strange cry was heard in Nick's background, accompanied by a wail that came from upstairs. 'Shit!' Samson raised his eyes to the heavens, and scowled.

"Whoa man. I just nabbed a chick. She's hot. So are ya coming?" Nick's drunken stupor was enhanced by the female distraction whispering in the background.

"What, you want me to come meet you at a club all the way in Thailand?" Samson sighed heavily with his palm on the back of his neck. If he was mad, he would have gotten on a flight and go out there to meet his best friend, but Thailand was just too far.

Nick gasped and laughed on the line. "Oh yeah! I'm in Thailand. I forgot. It looks like New York," he chuckled when the female giggled obnoxiously. "Hey, Sammy. I gotta go. This little lady here is anxious," he laughed suspiciously. "I have no clue what she's saying, but I'm all in. Don't wait up for me."

"Oh-kay, bye," Samson replied, hearing only snickering and then a click, which meant that Nick was already off on his worldly adventures.

He stared at the phone in his hand, thinking about the weird enticing invitation he was offered. Strange lands, warm humid weather, lush green vegetation, blanketing vast areas of land. At least it wasn't as bad as the one offered by Mark, the third Musketeer of their group. He was upstairs wreaking havoc within Samson's grandmother's guest room. Samson dared not venture near there, but he had to finish painting the walls which forced him to endure the tormenting sounds coming from above.

'_Why am I doing this?_' He returned the phone to his pocket, and bent down to pick up the paint roller, when the doorbell croaked again.

'_Ah, what now? I need to paint a sign_.' He dropped the roller back into its slushy pen and went to answer the door.

He was always felt indifferent towards Halloween, since he never really got a chance to truly experience it from the other perspective. His were normally spent at home with Gloria or at a sleep over with friends, whose parents felt that it wasn't safe for them to go out at night. His grandmother couldn't be too happier. She preferred to share out the treats.

Samson sighed regrettably as he opened the door, thinking about not having any candy to uphold his grandmother's tradition. He braced himself for the little disappointed faces beyond the wood, but wasn't prepared for what was there instead.

He felt a cruel blow throwing him back into the world when he was six.

Like Emperor Qin's terracotta army, four green reptiles stood there on his doorstep, staring back at him through differently colored masks. _The guys in the frog costumes were back? What kind of sick joke is this? They couldn't possibly be the same kids from all those years aback. Why would anyone make the same costumes they wore when they were little to wear when they were seventeen? It couldn't be the same kids who dressed as the same creatures for each Halloween._ He guessed their ages to be somewhere near to seventeen, since he was three and a half years older than them. He felt uncomfortable with the situation. Four guys, nearing adulthood, dressed from head to toe in green suits. Something's off.

"Is this some kind of joke?" he demanded of the oddly costumed quartet. Their round green faces scrunched up, at least one did, while the others frowned and shifted uncomfortably. Samson squared his shoulders in the doorway to appear more threatening, "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

The one wearing the orange mask took a step back and waved his arms defensively, "Whoa there, dude. It's not what you think. Calm down. We were in the neighborhood and thought that we'd drop by to see Mrs. Johnson. She was an old friend of...er...our dad's," his mask was full of expression, and the brows creased with uncertainty.

The man's eyes widened with recognition when he saw the mask move. _It was them._ He blinked to rid himself of the hallucination, but it wasn't going away. There they stood; four mysterious teens dressed up as some unknown green character. Turtles, he noted. He scrunched up his face as the facial features on their masks changed with emotions. It was the strangest thing he had ever seen. _They're here to see Gran. After all these years; and on Halloween . That's not normal. _Samson stared at them in disbelief.

"So uh, is she here? Who are you anyways? Did she move out? Would you happen to be her grandson? You kinda look like him. What was your name again? Jameson?" the orange-masked turtle carried on without pausing. "No, it started with an 'S' right?"

Laughter pealed from a group of kids running ahead of their parents on the pavement, and it made Samson feel as if he was being mocked by the cruel world. Gloria was dead. She died almost a year and two months ago; and here he was turning away children on her favorite holiday of the year, and being visited by some oddballs that they had once considered friends. They, as in 'just her' especially.

The others regarded Samson with careful yet wary looks, and when he said nothing, the purple masked reptile stepped forward, pulling his orange-masked brother back. "I'm sorry, we didn't mean to intrude. It's just that my brother here only wanted to say hi to her, but it looks like we caught you at a bad time. We're leaving now. I do apologize for any trouble we've caused you," the turtle's tone suggested that he was ill at ease and not entirely thrilled with being at his doorstep.

_Trouble?_ Samson was baffled by his choice of words, and stared at the masked group. The silence was soon filled with the determined voice of one turtle. The man's memories of the four Halloween youngsters flashed before him. He compared their younger selves to these and noticed that they or their costumes were different. Almost aged to be precise, despite the fact that it was larger. Tiny scars laced all over their skin, creating random intricate patterns that wove a tale of numerous accidents or battles. _What were they and what did they do?_

"But Don," the orange masked turtle began, flashing a mild look of irritation at his brother.

Don shook his furiously to cut off the other turtle, when another one spoke up.

"He's right Mikey. We have to go -" the blue masked turtle said firmly, placing a gentle yet firm hand on the other's shoulder. His tone dripped with authority, and his gaze held finality in them.

Before Mikey could put in another word, Samson said, "I remember you, you used to come with the rat right?" He saw the turtles cringe at the words and scrambled to correct his error. He stumbled over his words. "Sorry. I mean your father, your dad. He used to dress up as a - uhm - a rodent right?" he searched their alien faces for some sign of pardon.

Mikey grinned broadly at him, tipping him over into a pool of relief. "Yes!" he said triumphantly. "And I remember your name now. You're Samson," the turtle looked like he was a game show contestant who found out that they had the correct answer.

The silent one with the red-mask chuckled half-heartedly. He was leaned up against the railing with his legs crossed, and was pressing the tip of a fork-like weapon into his forefinger, testing out the durability of his costume skin. Samson's brows furrowed thoughtfully when his attention was drawn to the unusual behavior of the red-masked terrapin.

He continued to press the tip into his finger and shook his head at the human, "No sense using fancy terms there. He was indeed a - mnmph." He was cut off mid-sentence when a green hand smothered his broad mouth.

He scowled at his purple-masked brother, making one eye look larger than the other. Don didn't seem intimidated by the glare, and returned a warning look of his own. There was a secret to be kept, Samson noted. The turtle with the red-mask rolled his eyes, which caused Don to set his mouth free.

He scowled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "Don't ever do that again," he threatened his brother, while wagging the sai at him.

Don's expression was amused, and he pushed his hand down, "Then don't say anything again, Raph." He matched Raph tone with a hint of smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Raph snorted, and Mikey started up again. "So where is she? Is she here? Can we come in?" He paused for a moment to study Samson's face and then his expression softened. "She's not...is she?" his blue eyes were wide with remorse and disappointment.

Samson only nodded sadly and confirmed the deduction. "My grandmother passed away a little over a year now. I'm sorry." What else could he say to them? He missed her, but she was no longer suffering now.

"You're sorry!" Mikey's voice boomed with horror.

The other three winced and groaned in unison, "Mikey."

Mikey didn't hear them and continued on his train of thought. "Dude, we're the ones who should be apologizing. I'm so sorry for your loss. We didn't know," his green head lowered in reverence.

His brothers bowed at Samson as well, and the blue-masked turtle made a gesture with his hands, "Please accept our sincere condolences. May your grandmother rest in peace. We're sorry that we had not visited sooner, but we cannot change all that has come to pass. Again we're deeply sorry." His voice was solemn and sincere; with so much depth and reverence, that Samson felt like his heart was going to drop.

He held fast to his composure, "Thank you. I'm sure she would have loved to see you again," he began, but a sharp painful wail interrupted his response.


	4. They're Back: II

**They're back: In the same suits; only bigger. (II)**

* * *

><p>The wail came from upstairs and was followed by a couple more thumps, and the cracking sounds of a whip. He cringed; feeling embarrassed by the noises and moved to apologize to the suddenly tense turtles. Their weapons were drawn and their eyes traveled to the inner makings of the old familiar house. He tried to step into their line of sight to block off what was happening on the inside.<p>

Raph pushed his way in and looked up at the staircase. "What the hell is going on up there?" he demanded hotly.

Samson opened his mouth to reply, only to stutter when more disturbing sounds spewed from the guest room. "It's just my friend Mark. He's uh," he didn't get a chance to finish since the red-masked turtle was almost at the top of the staircase.

"Dude," Mikey frowned at his brother and looked back at Samson with a questionable shrug.

"Raphael wait!" the blue-masked reptile chased after the first, "Excuse me," he said launching up the fight of stairs.

"Guys, wait. No, don't go up there!" the human shouted after them, but it was too late. Don and Mikey were already at their brother's heels.

"Leo, Raph! Wait up," Mikey yelled excitedly.

What the heck do they think is happening? Samson rushed up behind them, fearing the outcome of their discovery. He had half a mind to let the turtles venture there and find out for themselves; since he wasn't interested in finding out. He wasn't even going to investigate to see if anyone was dying in that room. He really didn't care what Mark did with his life and such; he just wished that his activities weren't occurring in his Gran's house. His house. He hoped that she wasn't a ghost haunting him and seeing everything that was happening, because then she'd be one pissed poltergeist.

Suddenly, a door was heard crashing down; shaking the dust out of the ceiling downstairs and screaming was heard. He reached by the guest bedroom just in time to see Raph standing in the doorway with his mouth hanging open; hands hung limp at his sides. Female screams echoed throughout the house along with Mark's. Mikey covered his head with his hands, while Leo and Don gagged and stumbled backwards; turning their backs towards the scene inside of the room. They all looked severely awkward.

Trudging cautiously, Samson moved to remove the teens from the defiled vicinity. He glanced at the fallen door before allowing his eyes to travel to the occupants of the room. The sight was worse than he had imagined about Mark's private endeavors. Based on the man's description of his favorite past time, this was possibly one of the worst case scenarios ever. Samson preferred to avoid his conversations whenever he brought up his most recent adventures. The man had no shame.

He was lying on the bed, on top of a clear plastic lining that protected the sheet from the sticky honey he was covered in. His mouse brown hair was plastered to his head, and the liquid looked like drool running down from strands of his hair and face. They settled in huge globs on his shoulders and chest, and resumed their downwards journey from there. He was naked, except for the red fluffy hand cuffs that attached his hand to the bed frame.

He was breathing heavily, after being startled by the turtle's intrusion. "Man Samson, this your idea of scaring me on Halloween?"

Samson's face went flush as he tried to cough up an answer for him. Mark's disposition was not the only troubling thing in the room. In fact, there were two women there as well. They stood frozen like deer caught in headlights, and stared wide-eyed at the five intruders. They both wore red leather lingerie with black fishnet leggings, and tiny devil horns on their heads. A huge blonde weave was nested on top of one of the girl's head, and she was holding a short horse whip in her hand; while the other possessed the long Indiana Jones whip.

She made it her business to tie her blue hair up on the very peak of her head. She wore red eye shadow over her eyes, and her left breast was advertised to the world, thanks to the transparent bra she wore. The woman with the blonde hair was almost as bad, since the only material that covered the lower half of her body was an inch wide strip of red leather. Samson felt bile rise up in his throat.

Raph finally found his voice and shouted at the women. "What the fuck are you doing to him?" he demanded angrily, however horrified.

"Are you blind?" the blonde asked, tapping the horse whip in the palms of her hand.

The turtle scowled in disgust and backed out of the room.

"Hey, this party is only for you. Not your five buddies over there," the blue-haired female eyed Mark suspiciously.

Mark in turn glared at Samson, "Hey! You had your fun. You scared the shit out of us. Happy Halloween," he cried sardonically. "Now, could you take your geeky friends and get the fuck out of here. I'd cover my dick, but as you can see my hands are hand cuffed."

"That's just messed up man," Mikey drawled peeping through a small space created by his two chubby fingers.

Don turned and grabbed the turtle by his mask tails and darted downstairs with him in tow. "I think I'm gonna have nightmares for weeks," he grumbled in irritation.

Leo followed his brothers, while Raph looked over the three sadomasochism participants. "Samson you want me to throw these fuckers out of your house. I'm sure your gran would've never allowed them through those doors," he spat at one the woman and marched out of the room.

Samson followed the turtle silently, not bothering to look Mark in the eyes. Now that he's seen that, Mark will definitely have to find a place to live on his own. He couldn't stay there. Those images will constantly plague him every time he saw the guy's face. He shuddered violently at the thought.

"Dude, I can't believe you're into S and M. That's so out of this world!" Mikey announced from the doorway. He was being pushed through the door by Don and Leo was standing on the patio waiting patiently. "I mean, not that I'm into that kind of stuff, but whoa. That's like the strangest thing I've ever experienced in my life. The girls I could handle, but man, your friend there - all drenched in that gooey sticky stuff," he shuddered, "freaky. I seriously need something to get that image out of my head, and those chicks beating him with those whips. Geez. "He waved his arms about in excitement.

Samson blinked at the flood of words that came from the turtle. "I'm not into that. That's _just_ Mark," he stated defensively as Raph shoved the talkative terrapin out of the doorway.

There were some more disguised kids standing on the sidewalk pointing at them, or maybe it was just the house. He felt more ashamed about what had happened; though he wasn't the one caught in the act. He knew that Mark didn't give a damn about anything, and would just think of it as another great tale to tell at a bar. Samson was more reserved and old fashioned. He probably got that from being raised by Gloria. The little trick-or-treaters were probably marking his house as their next location to raid, but he couldn't remove the feeling of embarrassment as if it were those kids that had entered his house and saw that themselves. He would have been definitely berated by parents. Burned at the stake for dishonoring his grandmother's house and also ignoring her tradition. The wind blew, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up causing him to picture ghoulish spirits taunting him. _Stupid holiday._

"Hey, we gotta go," the red-masked turtle grumbled moving to stand beside his brother in blue. The both of them wore expressions of impatience and irritation. "Sorry about your door, we thought someone was being murdered," Raph scowled in the direction of the upstairs.

"More like tortured. You guys should have seen your faces when we busted in there," Mikey laughed, clutching at his sides. "I didn't need that visual either, but it was hilarious!"

The five of them winced, and shifted nervously on their feet. Then before Mikey could continue his rant, the one dressed in the red mask jumped in front of him. "Shut it Mike," Raph pulled on his orange mask tails. The costumed guy's head dipped backwards a bit, and he turned to bat away his brother's hand.

"Yeah, sorry about your door, but we must be on our way now. Goodnight Samson," Don stated, turning to head back out on the street. The young man wondered how long it took to make that shell on his back. It looked authentic. The patterns were detailed, and scars were etched into it. He was puzzled by their character choice. Who were they portraying? What are they supposed to be actually? _Probably some tradition they started with their dad. Nice of them to keep that up. _

"G'night dude, Happy Halloween," Mikey waved, ducking under Raph's flying hand. Then he let out a laugh, and jumped down from the porch.

Raph followed behind the orange-masked turtle, "Yeah, see ya." He did a short salute, and returned his hands to the sai that was tucked in his belt.

"Goodnight," Leo nodded, and walked off behind his siblings.

The human breathed in relief as they retreated, "Night." Weighed down by curiosity, Samson tilted his head. Apart from Mikey's bounce, their strides were calculated and precise. Each walking with urgency and caution. Suddenly they broke into a sprint, and darted across the street seeking out the shadows. One boy from the group of kids that were targeting his house pointed at them shouting, "Whoa, awesome 'stumes!"

Dreading the approaching children, he seized the opportunity to solve a mystery that had been bothering him for the smaller part of his childhood. Samson dragged his coat off the hook, shut the door and ran after them. He jumped through a gap in the kids that were gathered at the entrance to his yard, and ignored their cries of annoyance. He wanted to know for sure that they were people in costumes. Ever since the age of six, he always wondered if they were really creatures that emerged only on Halloween. Tonight he would prove that.

The four figures seemingly vanished into the darkness; however, Samson managed to keep them in sight and quickened his pace. They remained somewhat concealed by the shadows, but he knew that they weren't in a hurry to disappear completely since they slowed down and walked nonchalantly through an alley. Silencing his steps, he left the safety of the lighted streets, and followed them into unexplored territory.


	5. Wild, Wild East

**Wild, Wild East: Spirits that haunt us. **

* * *

><p>A small puddle of water splashed under Samson's shoe, drenching the edge of his pant leg, and he looked down to see the damage done, when strong arms wrapped themselves around his upper torso and slammed him into the wall. He groaned upon impact, expelling whatever air was left in his lungs, and felt himself being pinned to the wall with something sharp and pointed forcing his head to face upwards. Everything occurred in such a blur that he didn't have enough time to see his attacker. They forced him back into the hard concrete bricks as he tried to push forward from their grasp.<p>

_Why me?_ I began, cursing himself for his carelessness, and trying to follow four strange guys disguised enough to be robbers, or even worse, murderers. His body instantly ran cold as he thought of dying alone in a lonely alley, not too far from his home and certainly without anyone knowing where he was. _ I can't die this way. This can't be happening. _The man's thoughts raced as fast as his heart, in their own unseen race track derby. Adrenaline surged throughout his arteries, only to return to his veins unused, since he couldn't get out of his captor's hold.

"Get the fuck off me," he growled angrily at the guy who was in his personal space. The shadows cruelly hid his attacker's face from view, and the individual responded with a snort.

"I will, but not until you tell us why you're following us," a thick Brooklyn accented voice demanded, with a hint of a smirk. Samson brows furrowed in recognition and he lowered his chin, feeling the prick of the weapon against the soft tissue of his jaw. The sparse light allowed him to see the shape of the speaker's head, as well as the red mask that made a band across the eyes.

"Raph?" The human struggled to free himself from the turtle, when he saw three others emerge from the shadows. It almost looked as if they came from above. He wasn't sure about anything in the poor lighting.

One of them stepped into a patch of light and tapped on the red-masked turtle's arm. "Let him go, Raph. You've scared him enough," Leo's face was not in the slightest bit amused, and he crossed his arms like an expectant school teacher, waiting for the student to obey their instruction.

Raph muttered something under his breath and released Samson, which made him feel freer than he ever thought he was in life. He adjusted his shirt, and shook himself to get rid of the uncomfortable pain that lingered in his muscles and flesh.

Leo switched his attention from his brother to Samson, "Are you alright?"

The young man could have sworn he saw Raph roll his eyes, and scoffed in irritation. "Do I look alright to you? I thought you were going to take my money and then finish me off," he paused to cast a wary glance in Raph's direction. "You're not gonna kill me, are you?" he shifted nervously on his feet, searching for the widest path to get away from the masked teenagers.

Mikey guffawed at the question and waved his palm dismissively. "No way, dude. We couldn't possibly do that. We're not robbers, or murderers or anything like that. We're the good guys. What made you think that we were going to kill you?" the turtle finished laughing, showing off all the authenticity of his tongue and teeth. Samson couldn't help but to blink at them, and curse at his poor visibility.

_Why couldn't there be more light in the alleys? Then I'd be able to determine if what I'm seeing is real or not. Like this alleged 'man in a costume.' I'm convinced he is a walking talking human-size turtle. Not to mention; more light would mean that criminals would be deterred from using them to carry out their illegal activity._

Samson stopped himself from staring at the green turtle for too long and said, "Your brother attacked me and held a knife to my neck, what more do you want than _that_?" His voice bounced off the walls from the surrounding buildings and the turtle's grimaced a bit. A silhouette appeared behind a lighted curtain; satisfying their curiosity with a discrete peek, before turning off the lights as if they had seen or heard nothing.

Raph wagged his finger at him, "Hey, I never held a knife to your neck. That was a sai," he whirled the fork-like weapon between his thumb and forefinger, "there's a big difference." His tone was indignant; giving Samson the impression that he had somehow insulted the terrapin.

The human could only stare at Raph in disbelief, while his brother with the blue mask sighed, and the orange snorted.

"You shouldn't have followed us," Leo stated as a mater-of-fact. Possibly life or death, if Samson could describe it.

"You're just lucky you weren't some sword-wielding, psycho-maniac ninja that was determined to kill us," Mikey interjected. "Then you'd have something to be really worried about," he laughed, nudging his brother wearing the purple mask. The other turtle frowned and shook his head at his sibling, before batting the disturbance away.

"Why _were_ you following us?" Don asked; curiosity played on the terrapin's masked face.

Samson eyed the four of them in their stature, which solely gave him the impression that they were trying to intimidate him. He thought that it was quite funny actually. Four guys dressed up for Halloween, all gathered around him, questioning his actions_. Dressed up for Halloween my ass. Those things looked too damned authentic for my peace of mind._ He was determined to discover the truth.

He fixed his shirt once more, and then answered the turtle. "I only wanted to see if -" he paused to think over his choice of words. Not satisfied with anything else that came to mind, he continued. "Well, I wanted to see if you were really those things," he pointed and waved his finger at Leo's plastrons.

The reptile in question frowned, puzzled by the statement and looked down at his gave him that look that most people tend to reserve for the mentally insane, and Don stared at him thoughtfully.

"I beg your pardon?" Don's voice came at the same time as Raph's did.

"Come again?" Raph emphasized his impatience by tapping his sai on the palm of his green hand.

He rubbed the back of his neck as the anxiety rose up into it and sighed, "Look, I know that your costumes are not really costumes. You've been this way ever since I met you when I was six, and I know that no one in their right mind would have the same costume specially made every year; for fifteen years, just so it would look _that_ _real_. It's too _believable_. It's almost as if _you are_ the costume. What are you supposed to be anyway?" His voice betrayed his desperation to find out the truth, and he took a breath to carry on his rant before the turtles could reply, "and don't you dare tell me that it's a prop from some failed movie. I heard that bullshit already and I don't buy it. What are you? Are you some kind of Halloween spirits or something else?" He paused as the four teenagers' jaws dropped in surprise and then glanced at each other with shrugs. Like they didn't know what he was talking about. "So which is it?"

Mikey was the first to lose it. He erupted into such a boisterous display of hysterics that he doubled over, clutching his sides. He laughed so hard that he scared a stray cat out of the bin; forcing it to abandon whatever delicious salvageable meal it found in there. His siblings stood there; not sure on whether to answer the man or not.

"Halloween Spirits?" Mikey couldn't control his laughter. "You think we're -" he gasped for air as the word he was about to say triggered his humor. "Dude, we're not, we're -" he slapped Don's shoulder; still having difficulties to catch his breath. "Someone, help me out here," he snapped his fingers like it would magically make the words appear.

Don grimaced and took one step to the side to distance himself from Mikey, and rubbed his forehead.

"We're not spirits...er...ghosts or whatever it is you think we are. We don't come out on the thirty-first of October each year just to roam the earth. That's just crazy." The purple-masked turtle clarified. He seemed uncomfortable with the situation, but a slight smile of amusement crept into his eyes.

"These are indeed costumes, and we do this as part of our own family tradition," Leo asserted, "You do know about those things don't you?"

Samson squinted at the blue color of his mask that showed in the lingering patch of light, and folded his arms. "Not like this," he countered. "Look, I don't care what you say. I know that you're about as real as the shells on your backs, and there's nothing you can say or do to change my mind about it. Now are you gonna just stand there and try to convince me that you're wearing costumes or come clean about what you guys really are? I mean, I can see that you're turtles, but I just wanna know how. How is it possible for four reptiles to be walking and talking like humans? What are you really?"

"Huh," Raph studied the man for a moment, and placed his sai in his belt. "We're boogey men. Happy now?" the ninja flashed a wry smile as his sarcasm rolled off him like a wave and crashed around them. He strode off towards the fire escape and launched himself to the first platform before turning back towards them. "Hey, are you guys coming or what?"

"Boogey men?" Samson repeated the word frowning at how ridiculous it sounded.

"Yes, boogey men!" Raph shouted at him, and then he climbed up the rest of the way before jumping up on the roof.

The other turtles snorted and shrugged apologetically at Samson. "Sorry, we gotta run," Leo added quickly; turning to follow his brother who had sought refuge on the roof tops. "Michelangelo, Donatello," he called for the remaining two to copy their exit.

"We're coming," Don returned; immediately turning to follow Leo. "Come on Mikey. Trick-or-treating's over. Time to go home," he called over his shoulder.

The orange-masked turtle's face crumpled in disappointment, and he waved his arms around, "Home? Are you kidding me? The night's still young, and we haven't even captured a single candy bar as yet. Guys, we could still try our luck to see if someone is willing enough to give us candy. Our suits are awesome, even this guy thinks so. He thinks that we're _real_ turtles. "

Samson huffed at the remark; hearing every bit of mockery in Mike's tone.

Mikey gazed up at the three shadows that were glaring down at him, like angry Greek gods. The turtle wasn't fazed, and stated his case again, "Oh come on. It'll be fun. We should really try it. Just this once. This will be the last time we do this together, I promise. Come on, let's go. Just come back down here. We'll even take Sammy along." The terrapin turned to show Samson his row of teeth as he grinned at him.

The young man was suddenly worried and nervously twitched his toes in his soggy shoes. "Uhm, I don't think that's a good idea-" he began when another voice cut him off.

"Hell no!" Raph bellowed from above; making the grounded turtle flinch. "We're not going anywhere, and we're not taking him along," he stated with finality.

"Michelangelo get up here now. We're leaving," Leo's voice was smooth and calm, yet authoritative. That's when Samson realized that there was a ranking system to the quartet.

Michelangelo shifted on his feet a bit in hesitation before heaving a sigh. "Be glad you don't have to deal with bros who don't know the first thing about having fun," he told Samson. "They can be sticks in the mud sometimes. Or maybe it's just up their -"

"Hey, you over there!" A new voice interrupted Mike and caught their attention. "Put your hands in the air and don't move!" Two officers were quickly approaching them with their arms pointed towards the ground. Samson's body stiffened and he raised his hands as instructed. He dared not move until the one of the officers shouted again.

"Hey stop!" A couple obscene words were muttered before confusion took ahold of him. "Shit! Where'd he go?"

Samson whipped his head around to look for his so-called companion, but the turtle had vanished. Not a clue in sight indicating that his presence was ever there. Maybe they were ghosts. The twenty year old laughed inwardly at the irony. He greeted the holiday as day of his haunting. Now he wished that he was in any one of his friends' shoes.

"What the hell?" The other officer sprinted towards the frozen young man, and whirled about in puzzlement. "Where'd the next one go?" he asked, grabbing Samson's arms to pull them behind his back.

It took the man a second to realize what was happening when the cop pronounced his rights like a religiously recited prayer. The turtle was nowhere to be seen, and the cop's partner darted to the other end of the alley looking for their runner.

"I don't understand, what's the meaning of this?" Samson stammered as he felt the cold steel of the hand cuffs make contact with the skin on his wrists. The officer nudged him to walk, and began escorting him back to the car.

The cop laughed, "You and your buddies thought you could get away with it, uh?" His question was rhetorical in every sense, but the arrested did not seem to think so.

"What are you talking about - get away with what?" The young man grunted as the officer placed a hand on his head and urged him to sit in the back seat of the vehicle.

"You know what I'm talking about. Thought you got away with robbing that bank, didn't you. Guess you didn't account for the security cameras all over the damned place. They caught everything on camera and sent out an APB to be on the lookout for four guys dressed in turtle costumes. Lucky for us; someone spotted you in the alley and called the cops," the man's tummy jiggled as he chuckled.

"What bank robbery? I don't know what you're talking about. You've got the wrong guy, I swear," Samson pleaded.

"Oh don't play coy with me. We saw you and your other turtle buddy over there. He may have gotten away, but not for long," the officer shut the door and cast a glance in the alley for his partner before returning to the driver's seat.

Samson looked through the window and saw that the other officer had returned from his pointless chase. He was briskly combing through the alley with a flashlight and gun in hand, searching for Mikey. In frustration, he slammed a bin cover shut after looking through it and finding nothing. He had lost his suspect. Then after a few moments of spinning aimlessly, he jogged back towards the vehicle and jumped into the passenger seat breathing hard.

"I didn't see him," he told his larger colleague, "It's like he vanished into thin air. One minute he was there, and then there was nothing."

"Hmm, that's alright. At least we got this one. He'll rat on his pals in no time," the uniformed man jabbed his fat thumb in Samson's direction in the back.

"I'm telling you, you've got the wrong guy," Samson searched in the rear view mirror for the officer's eyes, hoping to see some ounce of doubt from the human.

The man squinted in contempt and snorted. "That's what they all say, why don't you sit back and enjoy the ride. You can save your energy for when they're ready to take your statement back at the station," the officer's was blunt suggesting that Samson should keep his mouth shut.

The twenty year old however, sat in the back scowling deeply; thinking up a storm of expletives he wanted to spew at the four green teenagers that committed their crime and left him to take the fall for it. The night took a turn for the worst and seemed to darken with every second that went by.


	6. Innocent: Innocent until proven guilty

**Innocent: Innocent until proven guilty.**

* * *

><p><em>Guilt<em>. That was the only word that repeated itself in Michelangelo's mind as he watched the car drive off with Samson Rodriguez in it. He thought that it was their fault the human got arrested because they were the ones he had followed out into the streets and into the dark alley. What could be more suspicious than a group of strange guys, hanging around in the dark in a random neighborhood?

The turtle absent mindedly followed the others as they raced across the roof tops; keeping the marked vehicle in sight. He couldn't remember what Donatello was saying, but he did pick up on the words APB, turtle costumes, and bank robbery. That was all Mikey needed to hear in order to put things into perspective. The guilt he was feeling suddenly became more prominent, as the rest of the details filtered in and drove the nail home in his gut.

Eventually their pace decreased as the vehicle slowed down and parked outside of an old convenient store. The windows was severely frosted with a crooked the neon sign showing behind it; its upper half glowing red while the lower was out. Leonardo was yapping something about locating the bank robbers when Mike saw the two officers jump out of their vehicle and enter the store.

"Leo, we should get him out, it's not his fault. They've got the wrong guy," Mikey said interrupting a conversation between his brothers; that he was apparently supposed to be a part of. He was not, and his comment was met with silence.

"Mikey, we already know that -" Leonardo began in a patient voice, but was interrupted by Raphael.

"Where were you all this time? Weren't you listening to a word that was said?"

Michelangelo stared at them blankly; for in all honesty he hadn't been paying much attention to them. All he could think about was the nagging voice of guilt that drummed in his head. The only thing he wanted was to have a bit of freedom tonight. Instead, they ended getting an innocent man arrested.

The turtle looked up hopefully at his siblings, "So... we're helping him get away from the cops then?"

Leonardo frowned and shook his head, but Donatello was the one who spoke up.

"No, we can't do that. We have to leave him where he is," Don informed him, "he is innocent and he has an alibi, so that should work as a plus on his side. However, we're gonna help things along by finding whoever robbed the bank. That way we'll clear his name as well as ours. We don't want to be mistaken for those fake-turtle bank robbers, now do we?" Donatello's eyes studied Mike's for a moment to see if he understood what he was saying.

Mikey's face sank as he nodded and he turned his head back towards the police vehicle. A few moments later, the officers emerged with a stumbling man who was fully outfitted in a Spiderman suit. The mask was pulled back like a hood at the back of his head, and the skin tight shirt was rolled up to reveal his protruding stomach. They struggled to get the staggering man into the vehicle, and slammed the door shut before returning to the interiors of the store.

_What kind of cop leaves criminals in the back of their car unattended?_ Mikey thoughts danced across his mind as he watched their passengers. Samson's dark head showed through the glass at the back of the car, along with the other occupant_. He's no criminal. He shouldn't be in there with that - Spiderman creep._ The next thing he knew, everything was moving and all the colors and shapes of the busy street blurred before his eyes; along with his brothers' voices calling his name in the wind.

The balls of his feet hit the damp cold ground, as he found himself down in the alley next to the building they were watching from, and then he propelled himself towards the law enforcement vehicle. When he reached the door of the vehicle, he crouched down so that his face was up to the glass, and he heard Samson's muffled gasp when he startled him.

"Samson, I'm gonna get you out of there bro," he stated opening the door to set him free.

The twenty year old recoiled from him and bumped into Spiderman, whose head was resting on the glass in slumber.

"What the fuck are you doing?" the pseudo hero jerked forward in surprise and pushed Samson back, rattling their hand cuffs against the bar in front of them. They were both secured to the vehicle, and that made Mike understand why the officers were able to leave their prisoners inside of the vehicle unattended.

"What are you doing?" Samson hissed at the turtle who was busy fidgeting with the bar the men were cuffed to.

"I'm getting you out of here. They've got the wrong guy," the orange-masked turtle's jaw was firmly set as he tried to undo a screw with a _kunai_.

"No kidding," the young man rolled his eyes. "Hey, don't do that!" he suddenly objected when one screw came loose. "I'm not going anywhere with you. You need to turn yourself into the cops and tell them everything. I know about you and your brothers robbing the bank, and I don't want anything to do with you. You know what; you and I should trade places. How does that sound?"

"Hey, calm down. We never robbed a bank. We were framed. I'll get you out and then we'll go clear our names, okay." The turtle was oblivious to the retreating man, and continued his mission to free him.

"Hey, if he doesn't want to go then I'll take his place," the beer-belly Spiderman leaned over Samson bringing his face close to Mike's.

The turtle scowled and backed up when the stench of alcohol breached his nostrils. "Dude, you've been drinking way-way too much," he waved his hand in front his face to clear the rank air, "and it's mixed with your bad breath. Haven't you ever heard of a breath mint?"

"What's that?" the drunk man cracked a broad smile and his eyes drooped as he chuckled, "did he just say breast mint? I like the sound of that. Where can I get one, or two?" He was still leaning over Samson, and his head hung lazily over the younger guy's leg as it bobbed with his speech. "Hey, are you getting me out? Why are dressed that way? That your costume? It's all green...green like Green Lantern. No!" his head suddenly head jerked up to look Mikey in the eyes. "Green like Green Arrow. Yes, that's it, but you've got too much green," his eyes drooped again and his body lowered some more as he muttered some incoherent phrases.

"Get off me," Samson pushed Spiderman off him when he drooled on his pants leg and cringed in disgust. "Nobody's going anywhere," he snapped, and then he tried to push Mike away with his foot.

The terrapin however, had his body rigidly wedged in place as he undid the last screw. "There, you're free!" he announced triumphantly yanking the bar out of its left socket.

"Free!" Spiderman screamed rocking his shoulders side to side, as his head rolled back on his neck. "I'm Spiderman and my spider sense is tingling," the man laughed hysterically.

"No!" Samson cried out in horror. "Mikey, leave me here. You can't break me out; it'll only make things worse. You've done enough," the human tried to keep himself planted in the seat, but Mike was already dragging him out. "Fuck. What the hell are you doing?" Samson fought hopelessly with the stronger turtle.

With his adrenaline on hyper drive, Mikey yanked Samson out of the car, and hauled the struggling citizen over his shoulders. "I'm not leaving you with them until we clear your name," he piped, bending his knees to support the weight of the man. He turned to run, when something caught his legs.

He looked down to see Spiderman hugging his knees. "No, don't leave me alone. I'm all alone in this cruel world. Take me to your breast mints, I want freedom. My wife, her name's Mary, like Mary Jane see. That's how I came up with my Halloween costume, get it? Spiderman, Mary Jane. The bitch won't stop nagging me," the man bawled into his thigh, spluttering on his skin.

In the moment of confusion, the cops emerged from the store and immediately reached for their guns, shouting at him.

"Freeze! Stay where you are," the leaner one demanded as Samson pounded on his shell to put him down.

"Put the man down slowly," the other directed pointing at the ground with his finger.

Mikey only stared at them, thinking about what he should do next. He can't get arrested. He wasn't even human. What if they found out about them because of his recklessness? Master Splinter would be so disappointed in him. Not to mention mad. He wondered if his father would disown him for his disobedience. _We must not be discovered by the surface world._ _Or something like that he always says._ _Leo and the others are probably pissed right about now. Speaking of which, where are they?_


	7. Options: The choices we make

**Options: The choices we make.**

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><p>Mikey was trapped, trapped in more ways than one. Here he was all alone with a man on his shoulder, another hugging his knees, and an additional two aiming at his head with guns. Could his life get any more interesting? He surveyed his situation measuring his options for executing a flawless ninja-inspired escape.<p>

"He's the one you want officer, not me!" the young human interrupted his thoughts pleading for his innocence.

Then something warm and wet ran down the back of his leg where a grown man clung to his legs sobbing. Michelangelo groaned and tried to wriggle his way out of the wasted human's grasp, "Dude, you're not helping the situation one bit," he scolded the human spinning around so sharply that his knee struck the man in his face, causing him to release his legs. He collapsed forward after being sent into dreamland once again.

"Hey, I said don't move!" the first officer shouted, and then a short whizzing sound was heard before shiny metal objects planted themselves in the men's hand guns.

Mikey grinned as they dropped their weapons in surprise and he ducked for the shadows; not before throwing a smoke pellet at the cops. Samson was yelling 'put me down' repeatedly in his ear, drowning out the sound of the officers' haggard coughing and gasping through the thick smoke. He was pleased with his escape and only dropped the young man when he landed on the roof top of a nearby building.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" the human threw up his arms in the air in exasperation and glared at the turtle.

Mikey flinched a bit, and smiled sheepishly. "I was rescuing you. I wanted to help you clear your name," he admitted affirmatively.

"Wow, thank you so much. They should definitely give you the '_Hero of the Year Award',"_ Samson mumbled as he dusted and straightened his clothes out of habit.

Mikey heard the sarcasm in the man's words, but chose to ignore it, and thought about the 'Hero of the Year Award'. Now that could be another title he could claim for himself. He was already granted the title 'Master of Speed' by his siblings._ Maybe they were being sardonic as well_. _Who cares?_ He smiled to himself in despite of all the things that were happening.

He was about to ask the man a question, when something hard and calloused made contact with the back of his head. There was a sudden flash of heat that radiated throughout his skull, before panning out into a numbing stinging sensation. "G-ah," he whirled around coming face to face with Raphael. The very turtle himself who would dare do that.

"Raph!" Mikey snapped registering the hardest look on his red clad brother.

Raph simply smirked back raised a hairless brow at him, "You're a fucking lunatic, you know that?"

Before Mike could respond, Leonardo pressed his fingers to his forehead and said, "Michelangelo, what were you thinking? You completely disregarded everything I had said, not to mention fling our plans out of your thick skull, and broke one of our number one rules of all time. Avoid being seen by humans. You blatantly went into the open and tried to bust a guy from a police vehicle when we specifically told you not to. You could have gotten yourself killed or worse. What if they had captured you? What then?"

The orange-masked turtle shrugged. "I knew what I was doing, Leo. I could've gotten out of there on my own. Besides, as for the never be seen rule; Master Splinter was the first one to break it since he was the one who introduced us to Mrs. Johnson and Samson here," he pointed at the man in question and raised his head indignantly. "So there's no need for you to be on my case. I'm alive, Sammy's alive and we're going to clear his name. 'Nothing else to it. I couldn't leave him with those cops, Leo. I just couldn't see him get put behind bars all because of us. That's what started this mess in the first place; they saw him in the alley with me. That's why I had to save him," Mikey felt proud of his justification and held his tongue waiting for his brother's response.

"You only made things worse, Mikey," Don was flabbergasted and tugged at Mike's mask tails. "You my brother, are nuts. You could've just let the law do their job to clear his name the proper way, while we catch the real bad guys. Now the cops will be looking for Samson like some fugitive, smart ass."

"Oh finally, at least the three of you think like normal people," the human commented from behind.

Mikey ducked his head as his brothers gave him a look that meant 'what are we gonna do with you?' and it finally dawned on him what they were trying to tell him all along. However, Michelangelo couldn't watch an innocent man go down because of him. Especially one whose grandmother treated them like family. Another thing that drove him to do what he did was that he knew that the elderly woman knew their secret without any of them realizing it. He remembered all too well when a mere accident on his part, revealed all.

Mikey recalled feeling extremely hungry at the age of five, and Master Splinter had recently scolded them for not paying attention to the game he was trying to teach them. It was only until now, at the age of seventeen, that the terrapin understood what the rat was instructing them to do. They were learning how to meditate at that tender age; something that required a great deal of concentration and focus, which proved to be a nearly impossible task for four hungry mutant turtles. Splinter's main goal, was to get them to block out the distractions of their hunger through meditating until he acquired some more food for them to eat. The feat was only achieved when they reached the age of twelve, yet it still turned out to be a temporary solution since the turtles were only able to keep it up for a few minutes at a time.

As it turned out, Halloween fell on one of these nights when the rodent couldn't get his children to stay calm enough to leave them for his scavenging hunt. Mikey remembered a lot of whimpering and restlessness up until the point where their father stood up and told them to hold hands. He even pulled out a length of twine that was knitted into small rope which had four small loops in it. Upon seeing it, Mikey's face brightened knowing that they were all going somewhere out of their small burrow.

"Where're we going, Mas'er Splin'er?" Leo asked gazing up at the ladder which led to the barely touched surface world above.

The rat sighed heavily in trepidation and lifted Donatello unto his shoulders. "It's Halloween again, so I'm taking you all trick-or-treating," he explained, and then he took hold of the first rung. "Remain where you are, I will be back for you shortly," he instructed and started climbing with Don clinging to his shoulders.

Mikey barely remembered the word that was said, but his fuzzy memory was enough to confirm that they were going back to that strange lady's house, where it was all warm and full of nice smells. There they got some of the most delicious things he had ever tasted. It was sad that the taste didn't last forever in their mouths, but it was enough to leave a lasting impression on them for a year. His master disappeared through the hole above; and returned shortly afterwards without Donny.

He jumped down and glanced over the small three figures, "Who wants to go next?"

Mikey's attention perked up and he jumped around in the sewer splashing water on the rodent's robe. Splinter smiled warmly and picked up the turtle. "Leonardo, Raphael, I will come back for you both after I get your brother to the surface. Stay right where you are," the rat said and began ascending the ladder.

The young terrapin inhaled deeply, enjoying the lighter air above as Master Splinter moved away from the manhole. He ducked down beside a dumpster and Donatello's small form emerged slightly from behind it with a relieved expression on his face. "You are to remain hidden behind this garbage bin until I return with your brothers, is that understood?" Splinter told Mike, setting him down on the cold ground.

Mikey nodded anxiously, "Yes Sensei."

"Good," Master Splinter sounded satisfied with his answer and settled him into the hiding spot with Donatello. When they were all on the surface, he pulled out the rope and latched their fists unto the loops that hung from it like dew drops on a line.

"Do not let go of it or else," their father's voice was stern and commanding, which made the little terrapins shake in fear. Not fear of him, but of the world they had just entered. They walked for a few minutes until they found themselves standing in front of a familiar home, which had brick walls and a concrete path leading up to its patio. The house was well lit, and sparse decorations were displayed on the steps. Mikey counted one Jack-o-Lantern and a few rubber spiders stuck randomly on the windows.

A muffled grating sound was heard coming from the inside when Splinter pushed a button with his hairy paw. Mikey was bubbling with excitement, while Raph beamed strangling his stuffed animal and Leo and Don shifted nervously on their feet before the huge door. Hunger was suddenly replaced by anxiety as they waited.


	8. The Invitation: Rein them in

**The Invitation: Rein them in.**

_Michelangelo's flashback continued -_

* * *

><p>Suddenly the brown door swung open, flooding the porch area with a warm orange light. A tall flowing figure stood in the doorway and Mikey squealed in joy. The woman with the long greying hair, jingled as she threw out her arms to greet the rat, "Hamato Splinter, right on time. It's so nice to see you and your children again."<p>

Smiling, Splinter nodded, "Likewise, Mrs. Johnson." He took her hand in his and placed his other paw over hers gently. "How are you?"

The woman's clothes floated about her as she waved the air about her, "I am fine, just fine. Couldn't ask for better, and what you Hamato? I see your boys have grown quite a bit since I've seen them," she stretched her hand to pinch Leonardo's cheek.

The turtle's face darkened in spot she had touched, and his green face crumpled into a forced smile, which ended abruptly when he sought refuge behind Master Splinter. His father patted his head chuckling nervously; not comfortable with the physical contact that occurred between the human and his son. As far as they were concerned, Mrs. Johnson thought that they were in disguise.

"Oh and I just love the way you keep the same costumes every year. It's so wonderful. I absolutely adore your family tradition," she gushed and bent down to capture Raph's cheek, but managed to get Donatello's instead, who was pushed into the 'kill zone' by Raphael himself. "It's so smooth and soft, yet tough," she commented on the texture of his skin.

Don winced in pain and Splinter cringed. "Yes - yes, I know," Splinter tried to distract the woman from her fascination. "How is your grandson; he is turning nine at the end of this year isn't he?"

"Of course. He's grown so much as well," the lady piped; then she moved aside from the doorway waving for them to enter. "Come in children, Samson's inside there somewhere. Go say hi to him if you want."

Mikey heard a gasp from Splinter as the invitation drew out one of his worst fears. He didn't even get the chance to mutter a word to keep them rooted to their spots since Mikey was the first to dash inside. The turtle bounded into the warm abode, sucking in deep breaths of the tantalizing air that only made his stomach growl in hunger. Raph came up behind him and gazed around in wonder as his senses became overwhelmed with everything he was seeing. Mikey glanced at the teddy in his arm and pitied it because it couldn't smell the air. Its oxygen was cut off by Raph's arm.

"Wow, I smell...I smell-" Don began pausing in thought as he tried to put a name to what he smelled.

"Cupcakes, muffins and cookies," a boy of eight years stood in the doorway that led to the kitchen. His hair was dark and untamed, and he had the darkest set of brown eyes Mikey had ever seen. He had his arms folded across his chest and a stubborn look on his face as if he was guarding something. "You guys back again in those same costumes?" the older kid tilted his head and scrunched up his face at the three turtles.

"Hi Samyson," Mikey approached him with a wide smile and the boy scoffed rolling his eyes down at him.

"It's Sam-son. Not Samyson. Aren't you supposed to be outside saying trick-or-treat or something?" Samson asked, but his question went unanswered when his grandmother showed up with Splinter and Leonardo and her side.

"Alright boys, you can run along and play now. Samson, share your toys with them while Mr. Splinter and I catch up, okay sweetie," she patted the boy's head and whirled past him into the kitchen grabbing a tray of different baked goodies.

Mikey's mouth watered at the sight and he licked his lips. Raph bounced on his heels in delight and Leo kept his place beside Master Slinter.

"Here, take these," she passed the tray to Samson flashing a smile at the five boys, "you all can share those. Now behave yourselves children." She turned to a nervous Splinter and locked her arm in his to drag him off into another part of the house, "We'll talk over some tea. How does that sound, Hamato?"

The rat simply nodded in response and snuck a warning glance at his sons. Leonardo was the only who didn't see it since he was too busy following closely behind his Sensei dutifully.

Samson's shoulders sagged in irritation and he sighed outwardly. "So who wants -" he began only to be cut off when three arms shot out and grabbed as much stuff as they could hold; shoving the cupcakes and cookies into starving mouths. The boy blinked as the three turtles gobbled almost everything on the platter, leaving behind a few things either out of modesty or for their brother who had chosen to remain at their father's side.

Mikey swayed happily with a bashful smile on his face; feeling too shy to ask for more, whereas Raph was savoring the last blueberry muffin he held in his hand, and Don was using his stubby finger to push cake that blocked up his entire mouth down his throat.

The boy's eyes were wide in surprise as he stared at the trio. "Oh-kay, what do you guys want to play?"

"Oh I know, I know!" Mikey's heart swelled some more in his chest, and he burst into a run touching Raphael on the arm. "Tag, you're it!" He tore through the house like hurricane with Raphael at his heels. For the first time the five year felt like he was free. Free to explore the world. Well, not exactly the world, but something more than the confines of their home in the sewer_. Mas'er Splin'er should bring us here more of'en_. Mikey laughed as he bolted down the hall to the study; circled the old Victorian desk and headed back towards the kitchen. He didn't know all of his colors as yet, but he noticed that most of the walls were painted in a similar color to him and his brothers.

He darted past Samson who was waving his hands wildly for him to stop, and entered the kitchen almost crashing into the island. "Hey, cut it out, don't run in there!" the eight-year old growled at them.

Raphael laughed as he stretched his hand to tag his brother, and missed when Michelangelo made a bend around the island. While circling the island, Mikey passed Donatello who was climbing up on to the kitchen counter to get to the blender. The curious turtle leaned it down to peer inside, and then turned it upside down to see what made it work.

Samson rushed to pull him off, but the turtle was too heavy for boy, and they both fell back pulling the blender down with them.

"Oops," Don cried, catching the device and hugging it to his plastron. "Don't worry, I got it!" he announced rolling off Samson to stand up again.

"Put that back," the boy snatched it from his arms and placed it back in its rightful place, "don't touch anything, okay." The human child was clearly irritated and opened his mouth to lecture Donatello, but was pushed aside by Raph when he ran by. "Hey," Samson objected and took off after Raph forgetting about the blender.

Mikey laughed all the while enjoying the chase, and ignored the slight discomfort in the lower region of his abdomen. He knew that there was something he was supposed to be doing but couldn't bring himself to abandon their game of tag. He darted away from Raph, made a circle around the island once more, and jumped over an opened oven door that Donatello was leaning into.

He heard Samson cry out in terror saying something that sounded like, "Do you want to cook yourself? That's hot, you dummy. Get away from there." Then a slam was heard as the oven was closed shut again. Mikey peeled out of the area and ran up the staircase; his brother not too far behind. He ran straight down the corridor until he came to a stop at a dead end. Raphael unsuspectingly crashed into him from behind, sending them sprawling on the ground with a thud. Mikey groaned as his brother pushed off him to get up, and gasped when his elbow stabbed him in the plastron. The teddy bear's fur feathered over his skin making him jump, and laugh at the tickle.

"Heh, you're it," Raph stuck out his tongue and pointed at him mockingly dancing his grimy teddy bear in his arms.

Mikey ignored the terrapin, and got up on his hands and knees to stand up. He felt oddly relieved and wondered why, that was until his hand landed in something warm and wet. He looked down at his hand and then at the floor, only to stare in shock and embarrassment at the puddle. He had wet himself.


	9. Michelangelo's Secret: Truth be told

**Michelangelo's Secret: Truth be told.**

_Michelangelo's flashback continued_ -

* * *

><p>Scared to even move, Mike remained frozen, thinking about the teasing he'll get from his brothers, as well as the scolding he'll receive from Splinter for not going to the bathroom on time. He was also worried about what Mrs. Johnson would say about him urinating on her floor. She'd definitely put them out now. What if she banned them from ever returning? Mikey's fear boiled over in his stomach and he suddenly wanted to cry.<p>

He blinked back the tears that threatened to come, and started thinking of a way to cover his blunder. In that moment of thought, a warm pair of arms wrapped themselves around his middle and pulled him to his feet. He turned around to meet a long flowing green skirt which could only belong to only one person; Mrs. Johnson herself.

Mikey's breath hitched as he stared up the woman waiting for her to banish them from her home. A moment of silence passed between the three of them as Gloria carefully assessed the two nervous turtles. She offered a gently smile to Raph and patted his head before pulling the dirty stuffed animal from his arms.

"No, you can't have him. He's mine," the turtle fussed; still clinging to the bear's leg.

"I know that, but he's in no condition for you to play with him like that. You could get sick if he remains that way," she said gently, "What do you say we make your little friend all brand new and shiny again, uh? He desperately needs a bath," she told the turtle while trying to remove the thing from his grasp.

Raph held on for a few seconds before simmering under her gaze. He nodded mutely and reluctantly allowed the woman to take his best friend. On acquiring the mucky stuffed animal, she lifted it to her nose and scrunched up her face at the smell.

"I'll give him a bath and bring him back for you in no time, I promise. Now you run along dear. Go meet your father and the others downstairs and help yourself to the extra trays I brought out, okay," she nudged his shell to go, and the little five year old walked off hesitantly turning his head back to look at the teddy.

She waited until he was out of ear shot and fixed a sympathetic gaze on Michelangelo. "Looks like you had an accident there," she nodded at the wet ground near the turtle's feet.

Mikey stepped back looking ashamed, "I'm really sorry, Mrs. Johnson. I di'n't mean to go potty on your floor. I'm really sorry. I promise I will clean it up. Please don't ban us from your home. I di'n't mean to mess up your floor." He pulled at his thumb wishing for the day to rewind itself so that he could undo his mistake. His breathing was choppy as he stumbled over his words.

The elderly woman smiled at him warmly shushing him, "It's alright dear. You don't need to apologize, accidents happen. You don't have to worry about it. I'm not going to ban you from my home either. What kind of person would I be if I did that over an accident? I've raised my own daughter in this house and now I'm raising my grandson, so these old floors have seen tons of accidents. I never banned them so how could I possibly ban you over one?" She chuckled offering her hand to Mikey.

He smiled weakly and took it. "Come on dear, let's get you cleaned up," she said leading him towards the bathroom.

Mikey gawked at what the lady called the bathroom, and wiggled his toes on the squeaky white tiles of floor. The tiles covered everything, from the ground, to the shower, up to half of the walls. The ones at the very top had tiny sunflowers on them that ran in a straight row. She turned two large handles, one red and one blue, and pulled a silver hose-like device off the wall in the shower.

"Get in, Mikey, don't be afraid," she beckoned the turtle. Mikey was still staring at his surroundings and had to be nudged to move. Snapping to attention, he climbed into the tub and stood waiting for further instructions. "You're such a good boy," she pushed a bar of soap into his hands.

He rolled the smooth hard object in his hand wondering if he should eat it, and pushed it to his face smell it. He didn't exactly have what the humans called a nose, but there were sensory receptors on his face that served as his nostrils. The scent of the block was bland and slightly unappetizing. He wrinkled his face causing Gloria to burst out laughing. "I know it's boring, but I prefer the unscented kind. Less chemicals in there," she tested the nozzle spraying some water on her hands. Feeling satisfied with the temperature, she shoved the hose into the turtle's hands and said, "There you go. You press that trigger to get the water going, okay. I'm going to leave you now to wash up. I have to throw your brother's teddy bear into the washer and get him dried in time for you all to be on your way. Don't stay too long now or you'll end up all wrinkled like a prune."

_Prune?_ Mikey looked up at the woman questioningly when a rather important piece of information came to mind. They weren't human and she wasn't supposed to know that. Mrs. Johnson believed that they were wearing costumes and Master Splinter had made it clear to them to always ensure that the humans held fast to that belief. Their lives depended on it. Mikey panicked, dropped the shower-head and soap and scrambled to exit the bath tub. "Uhm - Mrs. Johnson, I can't get my costume wet," he stated, swinging one leg over the edge of the tub.

A hand on his head stopped him, and the woman was leaning down to his level, "No, stay in there and shower off Michelangelo. I already know about you and your family's...er...condition. I may be old and half blind, but I'm not stupid. I figured that out the second time you five came around trick-or-treating."

Mikey blinked twice before pulling his frantic thoughts together. "You - you know?" he tilted his head to the side in bewilderment.

She smiled nodding.

"How? Did Mas'er Splin'er tell you?" Mikey's thoughts were processing at a thousand miles per hour with a million and one different ways she could have found out, but he asked the most obvious one. After all, she only ever spent most of her time talking to his father at this time each year. If his Sensei did in fact tell her, then why did he make them pretend to be what they were not? It just didn't add up. What if she put some truth potion in Master Splinter's tea? He remembered something like that from a bed-time story Splinter told them at one time.

Gloria saw the horrified look on the turtle's face and swooped in to reassure him. "No-no, your dad told me no such thing, I figured it out on my own," she explained.

Mikey frowned in thought, and moved unto the next idea in his head. Was she psychic? "Really? Whoa, you're psychic aren't you? Can you read my mind, 'cause I think Mas'er Splin'er can read minds," he was ecstatic about the idea.

Gloria laughed and rubbed his bald head, "I'm not psychic at all. I'm just an ordinary person; no special abilities or anything. Let's just say I'm very good at figuring things out. Is that alright with you?"

Mikey's face fell as disappointment drenched his hopeful heart, and he nodded at the woman. "That's cool. I'm just a little sad you don't have any powers. It would've been really awesome if you did. Then we'd have a real life witch to visit every Halloween," he explained.

"Oh," Gloria blinked in surprise at the child's imagination, and tried to settle him in the tub once more. "That does sound interesting, however I'm no witch. Never was, never will be," she stated laughing. "One thing though, Mikey."

The terrapin's head jerked up with interest. "Yeah?" He was picking up the soap and shower nozzle from the floor of the tub.

"Your dad doesn't know that I know you're a real turtle child and I wish to leave it that way for now. I want him to tell me the truth whenever he feels ready. Got it?"

Mikey didn't respond immediately as he thought about the implications of what she was asking him. Wasn't he supposed to uphold their secret? _We're supposed to be regular people in costumes. _No one was supposed to know, but now he had knowledge that Mrs. Johnson has found out the truth about them_. _

The lack of response from the turtle made Gloria speak again. "Everything's going to be okay, little one. Your family's secret is safe with me. I won't tell a soul. I guaranteed you that. You just have to trust me on that, and I won't tell them about your accident either. I doubt your brother noticed that it even happened. He was too busy doing a victory dance about winning your game of tag," she told the turtle in an amused tone. "So, this'll be our little secret. Just between you and me," her voice danced persuasively.

Mikey breathed in elation and smiled broadly at her, "Thanks s' much Mrs. Johnson. You're a really nice lady."

"You're welcome dear, and thank you," Gloria gave him an approving look as she turned to exit the bathroom. "Don't stay too long," she warned, pulling the door shut behind her.

Mikey kept that moment in mind, and felt sad that Splinter never had the chance the say goodbye to the elderly woman before she passed away.


	10. Obligations: Making things right

**Obligations: Making things right.**

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><p>Sirens howled in the cold night like wolves rallying for a hunt. The sounds traveled closer; warning the prey of their approach. It made Samson irksome, causing the human shift uncomfortably on spot. Once fear is summoned from the well of emotions inside of a being; it makes them prone to panic and stumbling. The chemicals being pumped into their system becomes mixed up, interrupting the messages that the brain sends to the body, forcing the unfortunate soul into a mode of disorientation. Disorientation leads to vulnerability and vulnerability can lead to a downfall. Was that the true logic behind it? Or was it just a statement that said 'here I am, let me through'? The turtle preferred his own theory.<p>

Leonardo observed the young man from aside trying to determine the best way to distance themselves from the area unseen. The trouble was; what was Samson willing to do. The man was already skeptical and suspicious of them. Would he abandon his curiosity after this night or continue his search for the truth_? Doesn't matter, we'll never cross paths again,_ Leonardo decided.

His other main concern was catching the group of men that were responsible for the heist and delivering them to the authorities so that he and his brothers could return to their home. Especially, when Mikey abandoned the group on a whim to get Samson, and was almost taken by the cops. _What was he thinking anyway_? He kept calm while he listened to Michelangelo grandiosely explain his reasons for throwing all caution to the wind. It made him wish that Master Splinter was more specific with his words. _He should've prevented all excursions to the surface tonight. It's too late now._

"So, what do we do now?" Raph's voice cut through his mental processing. The red-masked turtle's expression showed that he was highly irritated, if not impatient. Leonardo was forced to stop him from rushing to Mikey's aid when the officer's guns were raised or else things would have turned out differently. Now both he and Raph were without shuriken.

"It's not like we could take him with us?" Raph surveyed the twenty year old from head to toe.

"Like I asked to come along," Samson scoffed, and then he returned the look Raphael gave him. The red-masked turtle in turn squared his shoulders for him.

Leonardo cleared his throat, "Samson, you are free to do as you choose. We're not going to cause you any more trouble than we already have," he shot a glance at Mikey. "However, I assure you that we're definitely going to clear your name. Whoever's behind this has another thing coming."

The street below glowed between blood red and moonlight blue as the back-up law enforcement vehicle pulled up at the scene of the ninja ambush. That was their signal to leave.

"Really?" Samson was skeptical, casting a wary glance at the activity down below on the opposite side. "How do I know that you're not the robbers, uh? I don't even know who or what you are and you haven't answered any of my questions; so how am I supposed to trust your word for anything?" The human's voice raised slightly in pitch indicating that he was peeved, "but I guess all that is irrelevant now isn't it? After all, you just turned me into a freakin' fugitive!"

Leonardo blinked at the accusations, waving his hands dismissively. "Hey, we never asked you to follow us. That was on your own onus, not ours," he corrected. "As for your unfortunate rescue; you have Michelangelo to thank for that, regrettably, but he was only trying to help. If we had known about the bank robbery sooner, we wouldn't have been so careless; let alone out on the streets. There's nothing we could do to change what has already happened, but to adapt to the situation and prevent any future repercussions. Hence our reason for going after the true criminals. Also, we do not owe you any explanations as to whom or what we are. It's best you figure out where you're going from here on till this thing blows over," the turtle deliberated

Samson was bolted to his spot with Leonardo's remarks and took a few moments before he decided to respond, however, Donatello prevented him. "Don't worry; you won't be a fugitive for too long. I sent a message to a friend of ours to be on the lookout for men in turtle suits, and I just got back a message saying that he's found them. Looks like we're going trick-or-treating for thieves," the purple-masked turtle smirked.

For a brief moment, the young man's facial expression looked like a blend of worry, concern and bewilderment, and then he heaved a noisome sigh. "Great, that's just wonderful," he rubbed the back of his neck.

"You bet it is!" Mikey interjected; already spinning his nunchaku.

"What are we waiting for? Let's book already," Raphael muttered as he strode towards the edge of the building.

Turning to walk off, Leonardo nodded in Raph's direction with his head. "Vanish," he gave a command to Mike and Don.

Without missing a heartbeat, Donatello ran up to meet Raph while Mikey hesitated.

"What about him? Are we leaving him here? What if he gets caught again," Michelangelo's concern for another person's wellbeing, weighed down on his sibling's patience.

Leo gave Samson a thoughtful look, probing him to speak up. He wanted him to make the call for himself. He didn't want to be responsible for any human or civilian, as the officers had put it. That was not their duty; theirs was to ensure that no harm came to the innocent. Whatever those rescued persons chose to do with their lives afterwards, was up to them, not the terrapins. This situation was also a bit more complicated than that. They had turned the authorities against the young man.

Samson's eyes widened and he waved his hands at Mikey as if he was warding off some evil force, "Don't worry about me, you guys go on. I'll be fine, really. I won't get caught again...on second thought, that might not be such a bad idea." He looked between the turtles and the police vehicles deciding on which was the better option.

"It's not like he could go back to his home, Leo," Mikey explained valiantly. The turtle was determined to be Gloria's grandson savior. Why? Leo had no clue, but he saw something else in the orange-masked turtle's eyes. A small glint of interest and a sense of belonging. It was as if he considered Samson to be much more than just an accidental acquaintance.

"Mikey, if you're so concerned about him, then why don't you find some place more concealed than here, and keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn't...follow us," Leonardo delegated, half disconcerted. That was the best thing to he could think of to appease Mikey's persistence to be responsible for the lady's grandchild.

The orange-clad turtle beamed like a fog light out of satisfaction. "You've got it, bro!" he did a salute; to which Leonardo nodded turning to follow the others across the uppermost level of the city. He was less than a couple of yards away from the human and the terrapin, when he heard a terrified yell, most likely from Samson, followed by Michelangelo's signature laugh. He cringed as his legs launched him towards the neighboring rooftop, out of earshot of the impossible orange turtle. Whatever Michelangelo did this time; he was not interested in finding out.

Leonardo kept pace with Donatello and Raphael for almost half an hour before the purple-masked turtle let up and signaled to them that their journey had ended.

"This is it," Don pointed down below where sounds of a scuffle were heard. There were a couple panicked shouts and metal being banged by various objects.

The red-masked turtle chuckled, "It sure sounds like it. Casey, that dumbass, couldn't wait 'till we get here, could he?"

The three of them looked down into the dim area to see the silhouettes of five men scrambling all over one another like crabs in a barrel; except four of them were charging at the one holding the bat.

Leonardo dived off the short wall instantly, and landed on the fire escape railing, just as Raphael's weight shook the flimsy frame with his descend. Then the blue-masked ninja jumped down, catching himself on a lower section before landing behind a man dressed in a weird green suit. The men hadn't noticed the turtle behind him and stumbled back when Raphael and Donatello appeared simultaneously; cutting off their access to a masked Casey Jones.

"What took you guys so long!" Casey demanded from behind a hockey mask, waving his baseball bat in the air. His voice sounded deep and muffled, while his heavy breathing resonated through it making him sound as though he was pretending to be 'Darth Vader.'

_Wait a minute,_ Leonardo focused on the vigilante's face a little more and almost laughed out loud. Casey was wearing a black mask. Apparently, he had painted it over; covering the once white surface with a glossy obsidian color. It did indeed resemble the mask of the Dark Jedi; fully complimented by the black cape and suit that donned the man's body.

Raphael tilted his head at Casey and pointed at him with his sai. "What took _us_ so long? You're the one who didn't wait, you nutcase," the turtle scoffed.

Leo snorted and the human that was standing in front of him started; spinning around to end up between Leo's katanas. The turtle smirked as the man froze between the blades he had crossed into a scissor shape. "I think you should try to come up with a more _original_ Halloween costume next time," he said, eyeing the muddy green sweats and the spray-painted tin-foil shell on his back. The man's face was covered by a green stocking like material, which stretched horrendously over his gaping mouth.

Suddenly, cries erupted from his three other companions as they lunged for the terrapins. _They can't be serious._ Leo shook his head in wonder as he kicked the man in his stomach forcing him to fly backwards unto the concrete. Then he charged towards his opponent when the pseudo turtle arched his back to jump back up to his feet. Without waiting for the human's feet to touch the ground, he rammed a fist into his throat, cutting off all the oxygen to his lungs, and drove him down to the ground on his back. He heard something snap; followed by soft cracks as a few lumbar discs got dislocated. The man's short gasp cut off abruptly when his head rolled to one side.

The blue-masked turtle cast a quick glance at the man's chest to confirm that he was still alive, and gratefully, the man lived. Feeling confident about the nearing end to their night on the surface, Leo stood back to watch the others in their battles.

"I know that you idolize my friends over there and all," Casey stated ducking from his opponents flying chain, "but try not to dress like them when you decide to rob a bank. That's fucking psychotic," he finished by swinging the bat upwards; shattering the jaw of the costumed man. The man staggered back before crashing to the ground with a thud, and the dark green stocking over his face turned almost black with the bloody phlegm gushing from his mouth. 'Darth Vader' lifted his bat in the air triumphantly, before rubbing it along the wood grain. "Man, I love you, sweetheart," he kissed the handle of the bat and pushed it into his belt, rather than the golf bag which usually resides on his back. It had to be sacrificed for the cape.

"I can't believe you're cheating on your girl with that stick!" Raphael yelled while bending another robber backward over the edge of a garbage bin. The man screamed in protest as his spine was twisted in the opposite direction; only to be cut off when the turtle kicked him in the stomach. "I think the force has gone to your head," the red-masked turtle grinned; delivering one last punch to the man's face knocking him out cold.

"I don't think it's the force Raph. I think it's the paint," Leonardo interjected, beginning the ritual of tying the fallen men up on the side.

"It's definitely the paint," Donatello jumped into the conversation while spinning his Bo staff over his head and shell. The guy he was involuntarily paired off with was jumping back and forth on his feet, unsure of how to approach the terrapin. Leonardo knew that he was taunting the man, and crossed his arms, anticipating the purple-masked turtle's next move.

"Very funny guys," Casey retorted, leaning himself against a wall.

The three turtles laughed while Don dealt out a series of coordinated blows on the stunned bank robber. He collected a hit at the side of his right knee, then the left, followed by one to the chest. Then the turtle brought the staff around again with a spin, catching the man on his left arm, and then on his back. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he stumbled forward swearing.

"I guess Donny doesn't like copy cats," Raphael came to stand at Leo's side; observing Don's delayed strike down. Leonardo thought that it was odd that the man remained standing after taking so many hits to his body. Usually, an opponent would give in and surrender to defeat after being physically compromised like that.

Coughing up some more blood, the faux turtle steadied himself on wobbling knees before straightening his shoulders_. What's he doing?_ Red flags immediately went up in Leonardo's mindas he watched the man. _Something's wrong_. He shot a look at Donatello to let him know that he had to end it, and received a slight nod of acknowledgement from his brother. With this job done, they would soon rendezvous with Michelangelo and retire inside the safety of the lair. Or so he hoped.

In that moment, things seemed to move in slow motion as Donatello leaped into the air; aiming a flying kick at the man's chest, and silver shuriken flew through the air. Leonardo didn't have time to think as he dived to push Don out of the way; and at the same time, use his katana to deflect the sharp objects. The both turtles landed on the concrete making it crack under their shells, and turned to look back at the man in surprise.

Leonardo frowned. _A ninja? The man's a trained-weapon-carrying ninja?_ He jumped up immediately, throwing a deadly glare at the smirking human, and knocked him out with the hilt of his sword. Then, before any of them could move, screeching tires cut through the silence, setting off all nearby dogs on an ear-splitting chorus, as a brown sedan swerved into the alley. The vehicle rattled loudly as it launched itself towards them at full speed.

Leo and Don dodged the vehicle, pulling the unknown ninja out of the way. The sedan sped past them as it traveled down the alley for a short distance before coming to a sudden stop. Leonardo blinked for a few moments pensively as he tried to determine if the person he saw in the car was really Samson. _It couldn't be._ He shook his head while replaying the image of the man in the car that flashed across his eyes. _It can't be him; because if it is, then Michelangelo's got bigger problems. _

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><p><em>Really, really sorry for the lateness. Everything was supposed to be up on the 31 Oct, but something happened that night...so I couldn't continue. So much for my Halloween thing coming out on Halloween. Anyways...thanks for reading. <em>

_I do not own the (C) to Star Wars either. 'kay._


	11. Revelations: Need to know basis

**Revelations: Need to know basis**.

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><p>Some dreaded emotion washed over him; wrapping around his warm skin like silky ribbons. Cold ribbons which made his heart shudder in trepidation. He found himself awestruck when he saw Raph and Don launch themselves across the rooftops, making it seem like the most natural element in the world. He found himself envying their ability to do that. It brought back his queries about their origins and nature. He tore his eyes away from the duo upon hearing Leo's last bit of words to Mikey. The blue-masked turtle was already following in his siblings' footsteps, racing towards the edge of the building as Mikey shouted after him. "You've got it, bro!"<p>

Samson could only stare as three of the four turtles went off on their own leaving one behind with him. Turning to face Mikey, the man's brows furrowed in suspicion. "So what, you're like my babysitter or something?" Samson asked, making his way to find a fire escape. He wanted to get down from the structure, badly. He leaned over the short wall to estimate the distance of the drop when he was suddenly hoisted over the edge. He yelled out loud; hearing Michelangelo's laugh and clutched at the rough concrete in fear, tearing away his fingernails.

"I'm no babysitter," Mikey chuckled, "I'd make an awesome body guard though. The ninja type. I won't need a gun or anything, and I'll be as silent as a cat in the jungle. You know, like those tigers you see on TV. They're pretty big and powerful, and yet you'll never know when they're about to strike. Did you know that the Jaguar kills its prey by crushing the skull between its jaws? They deliver the killing blow by piercing the temporal region of their prey's skull with their teeth. Pretty cool, huh?"

The turtle was hoisting the twenty year old over his shoulder and climbed on top of the short wall, overlooking the distant ground below. _Fuck. He's not going to do what I think he is, is he?_ Samson's eyes pained slightly as the blood rushed to his head building pressure behind the skull. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded of Mikey, staring in terror at the world underneath. "Are you fucking mad? Put me down! "Samson would have struggled, but the fear of falling crippled him.

"Whoops!"

Samson wondered why the turtle made that sound, and was soon granted his answer when he saw everything flying past him. The breeze rushed about him rustling his hair and filling his ears with hollow whistling sounds. Samson always saw himself as a well-gathered fearless individual, although he found himself bawling like a cattle being butchered. He saw flashes of concrete, darkness, patches of windows with lights and fire escapes; in his unwilling travel adventure with Mikey. The turtle chatted non-stop during the journey; half of which was lost in Samson's cries of protest.

"Sorry man, I get carried away sometimes. I just wanted to get you to this place I know real fast...it's pretty safe," Mikey began, jerking a fire escape as he landed on it. "I know that you could walk and all, but as you can see; my mode of transportation is much faster and way more efficient. You wouldn't've been able to keep up with me. Really sorry about that. Are you afraid of heights? I wouldn't have carried you if I'd known that you were afraid of heights." The turtle finally placed the human on the ground, and the dizzy human stumbled a bit before looking up at the orange masked-face.

"You're - you're crazy!" he shouted, pointing at the turtle. He was having a hard time catching his breath when Mikey yanked his arm and pulled him down to duck behind a vehicle. Surprisingly, they were in another alley, but it all looked the same to Samson. Dark sullied bricks, scarred by a plethora of colorful graffiti that went up to as high as the artists themselves dared. A few trash bins lined the length of the alley, saturating the air with thick unpleasant aromas. The young man was suddenly craving his house at that moment, where the air was breathable.

The turtle was crouched down beside him with his weapons drawn and peered through the glass of the brown sedan.

"What are y-" Samson's question was shot down when Mikey placed a hand over his mouth as a new voice bellowed from beyond.

"Where are those fucking imbeciles? They were supposed to meet me here with the cash fifteen minutes ago," The voice was accompanied by heavy boots stomping on sloshy cold wet stone. Samson raised his brow at Michelangelo questioningly while the turtle removed his hand from the man's mouth and raised a thick finger to his lips to shush him.

"I don't know why I trusted those idiots to rob the bank in the first place. They're lazy and incompetent; can't even follow the simplest instructions," the stranger growled in irritation, then he demanded, "You, go find those four fools and bring them back to me. I'm sure they're still wearing those fucking ridiculous turtle costumes." The man's voice dripped with disgust.

With that said, Michelangelo vanished from Samson's side, leaving the human to gaze at the empty space he left behind. "Shit, that can't be good," Samson's head rose upwards to look out for the orange-masked terrapin.

Through the glass of the brown sedan, he saw Michelangelo rush into the group of six men, unleashing his whirling nunchucks unto the unprotected skulls of his foes. Samson winced at the sound of a bone cracking when the first man received a blow to the head and fell back. Then another went down in a similar manner after failing to defend his face against the orange and green blur.

Samson marveled at the turtle's speed; watching Mikey move between the men as they blocked his strikes and tried to move away from the nunchucks. These four were dressed differently from the first two who were lying unconsciously on the cold ground. Instead of being dressed in baggy jeans and sweatshirts; three of them were covered from head to toe in a black garb with a single red symbol on their arm, while the fifth was a lean tall man with short ebony hair, and a dark blue silk robe-like dress. Samson wasn't sure what to make of the garment that was richly decorated with gold embroidery, but it reminded him of something he saw in one of Nick's photos from his trip to Japan.

The turtle dodged a kick from one of the ninja and caught the man's ankle between the chains of his nunchaku, crushing the joint in it. He yanked on the weapon and pulled the man towards him before flipping him over his shell. As the man fell to the ground, Michelangelo rose up out of his bowed position and shot his fist upwards to make contact with another opponent's chin, drawing blood from the bitten tongue. Then the orange-clad ninja spun around and kicked the fifth guy in the stomach, stopping his charge short. With a grunt the man staggered back clutching his injured mid-section.

The lighting in the alley did little justice to the action scene that played out before the eyes of the twenty-year old, and the night sky served no purpose because it was always overshadowed by the giants of New York City. The tall buildings robbed all its inhabitants of ever viewing the stars above. Samson always felt like they were towers of oppression; grandeur in their display of lights. The darkened alleys apparently served as little pockets of freedom where all the weird things happened. Where men dressed in strange gear and battled like characters out of an old Asian film.

The turtle ducked from the blades that were attempting to behead him, and rotated his body as he parried the gleaming weapons. Moving like a windmill, he finally disarmed the robed man, and struck the sixth and final man in the chest. The human staggered backwards, gripping the material of his robe over his heart in pain. To finish things off, Michelangelo delivered a roundhouse kick to his spine, sending him sprawling on the ground.

Mikey bent over one of the guys and pulled something from his pocket before running back to the brown sedan. "Hey, Samson, get in. We're getting the hell out of here before those guys come after us," he said climbing into the vehicle. "What are you waiting for? Get in!" He said sternly, emphasizing every ounce of urgency in his command to pull Samson out of his hesitation.

Following Mikey's order, Samson climbed into the vehicle and slammed the door. "Alright, alright. I'm in, happy now?" he threw his arms up in the air in exasperation. He had reached the notion that this young turtle wasn't going anywhere without him tonight, and he might as well suck it up and go along with the flow. Even though the ride was definitely a trip down the river Styx [**1**].

Ignoring the man's words, Mikey threw the car into reverse, and peeled out onto the streets, scattering the injured men in all directions. Samson couldn't help studying the ninja's face while the car rocked and tilted violently; turning to face in the turtle's desired direction. His orange mask darkened where his hairless brows furrowed, and his gaze was focused and intense. His chest and shoulders rose rhythmically as he breathed to burn out the excess adrenaline traveling through his veins.

Samson's eyes then landed on his left arm which he held tightly against his body with a clenched fist. The position in which he kept it cemented against his plastron suggested that it was injured, but the human saw no emotion of pain or anything registered on the turtle's face.

"You're hurt," Samson commented, showing a bit of concern for the green hero.

Mikey glanced at the young man out of the corner of his eye and cracked his neck. "Meh, it's just a sprain," he said nonchalantly.

"Huh," the twenty year old didn't know what to say after that. His intuition was telling him that the arm was more injured than the turtle let on, but he also got the impression that Mikey wasn't in a talking mood for a change. _Finally. _

Mikey's other arm gripped the steering, revealing the small bleeding gashes on his knuckles. A small smile tried to sneak its way onto the man's face, reveling in the tiny victory of finding rock-solid proof that they were indeed mortal giant green walking talking turtles.

Somehow he felt better about it, knowing that he didn't have to wonder anymore and at the same time angry. Angry that they had the audacity to trick his grandmother all those years ago, playing on the old woman's kindheartedness and adoration for Halloween costumes. She always went on about their father; that man in the rat costume. He wondered what she would have said if she was still alive and found out that Splinter was actually a giant rodent. _Nothing good, I bet._

The terrapin's side was exposed to Samson because he was driving with his right hand and the green skin there looked almost transparent. It stretched with every intake of air, showing off tiny purple and green blood vessels that formed braided channels just beneath the surface. They pulsed ever so slightly, that they drew in Samson's attention to the point where he didn't notice his finger moving to make contact with the strange skin. Before he could stop his curiosity, his finger hit its target, and a crushing force snapped unto his wrist instantly.

"What the-! Dude, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Mikey's good hand was locked unto the human's hand, and Samson felt his head slam into the window when the car swerved out of control.

"Shit!" The word flew out of the man's mouth as the force rattled his senses, and Mikey released his hand to regain control of the vehicle. The sedan barreled down the street, waxing and waning horizontally as the ninja tried to maneuver between the other vehicles.

"Are you nuts? Why'd you let go of the wheel? Slow down. Use the brakes!" Samson held on to the seat in panic, mashing down on imaginary brakes at his feet.

"I'm nuts?" Mikey turned his head to stare at Samson. "You're the one going around poking people. Leave that for Facebook or your girlfriend, not me!"

Samson's snapped his mouth shut as the turtle carried on, driving the car dangerously through an intersection.

"Are you attracted to me or something? Because I should let you know that I'm strictly into women. I don't mean to let you down or anything, but that's just the way it is. Next time ask for permission first before you try to touch someone. What you did there was very creepy, dude. You should've asked if I was interested in you or something; _not_ poke me where I'm most sensitive," Mikey shrugged his good shoulder. "Don't look at me that way, I'm ticklish," he admitted shamefacedly.

The human male blinked rapidly clutching his seat; completely terrified by the orange-masked ninja's swerving and stunned by the words that spewed from his mouth. "Would you slow down!" He yelled firstly out of self-preservation, "and no, I'm not gay. I'm sorry I poked you, okay. It was an accident. Now slow the fuck down!"

"How could a poke be an accident? You did it on purpose," Michelangelo accused, "and I can't slow down!"

"Why not?" Samson demanded.

The turtle looked into the rearview mirror and nodded, "Because we're being followed."

The human spun around in his seat to see a grey pick-up tailing them. Depressed by the new development, he sank back down into his seat, hunching his shoulders up to his ears. He suddenly felt ensnared by the seatbelt and wanted to get out of the car. The lights turned into blurred streaks and a force gently pushed him into the leather cushioning. It reminded him of his first time in flight training; though the force was much more unforgiving.

"Are you getting car sick, Sam?" Mikey's voice rescued him from plunging into dark negative thoughts.

"I don't get car sick," Samson corrected. He jolted to the right when Mikey swung the car into a street on the left, and remembered to shield his head from striking the glass again. He'd have a concussion by the end of the night.

"You don't? Wow, that's so cool. I wish I was like that. I get car sick all the time. Except when I'm driving," Mikey frowned in thought and crashed through a stall on the sidewalk that vomited flowers unto the windscreen. "I wonder _why_ that is?" He flipped on the wipers and waved his hand dismissively. "I'm sure Donny would have an explanation for that. Here," the terrapin winced faintly as he moved his injured arm to retrieve a small device from his belt. He flicked his wrist and tossed it into Samson's lap, "Take my cell; you'll see a tiny blue button on the top left. Press it and tell where my brothers are," he directed.

Samson took up the strange green thing in his hand and it opened up like a cooked clam. "I beg your pardon?" he asked staring blankly at the device.

"That tiny blue button activates the GPS for our phones. We can locate one another on our shell-cells. Just press it and tell me where my brothers are, please." Mikey blindly swerved into an alley and exited on the opposite end, pelting out unto another street. Samson would have looked back to see if the pick-up was still following them, but he dared not. He didn't want to find out how close death was to him, so he chose to press the tiny blue button on the alien phone instead. It glowed eerily as the screen changed to display an orange map with three small black dots jumbled together in one location.

"They're on 33rd street, somewhere near block six," the man assumed the dots were the other turtles.

The brown sedan turned at another intersection on squealing tires. "Thanks," Mikey smirked. "So, Samson. What do you do for a living?"

The question couldn't come at a more random, not to mention weird moment. The young man sighed inwardly thinking, _Why the heck not? I'm in a car with a green humanoid turtle-being on Halloween night; and we're being chased by thugs who are most likely going to kill us. Happy Halloween Mr. Rodriguez. All I need now is a bottle of whisky to make me feel sane again. _

"I'm training to become a commercial pilot. I teach part-time at the Community Centre though," Samson began but was cut off by Mike.

"Really, that's pretty awesome. You're probably the coolest teacher there, uh? I mean, becoming a pilot and all. If I were in your class, I'd be excited to see you every day. What do you teach?"

Mikey's comments made Samson feel highly uncomfortable with the sudden attention. He hated to be at the center of anyone's attention. It felt like a dozen large spotlights were pointed at him; boxing him in and burning holes into his body. The air inside of the car grew thick and stifling as Mikey waited for a response.

"No one at the Centre knows that I'm in Flight School, and I'd like to keep it that way. I teach math there, so I'm everyone's least favorite teacher," the human explained, leaning in his seat while Michelangelo brought the car out of a sharp corner.

The terrapin made a scoffing sound, "Math, hmm. I don't really like the subject myself, but I don't get why you don't want anyone to know about your flight training."

Samson shrugged, "That's just the way I am."

Mikey pursed his lips and looked up at the rearview mirror. "I-I think I finally lost them," he laughed victoriously, jerking his injured hand a bit too much and he had to shut his mouth to suck back in the pained gasp.

"You should have someone look at that arm, Mike," the human suggested; once again studying the mutant's form and wondering what happened when they were injured. Did they visit a private doctor or just take care of it themselves? He also wondered where they lived because it was clear to him that the quartet knew New York inside and out; like they were born and raise in the city_. What the heck were they anyway_?

"That's what Donny's for...or Splinter and Leo sometimes," he smiled broadly.

"Okay," Samson let it rest and decided to bring up another burning issue that was eating at him from the very beginning. "Are you guys aliens or something? Because I know that you're not human," he watched as the turtle's eye-ridge shot skywards on his face. "I could tell by your mouths and the cuts on your hands, among other things. So what are you exactly? How'd to come to be living in New York all these years?"

Michelangelo guffawed, causing the car to launch sideward violently. "Aliens, you went from ghosts to aliens! Now that's just hilarious. We look like aliens I guess. We've got the green skin down and everything. Except for Master Splinter; he'd probably have to be a giant Martian Mouse. Heh, too bad he's a rat through and through," he stopped himself abruptly and looked directly at Samson seriously. "Sorry dude, we're not aliens. We're mutants. Some chemical ooze fell on us and transformed us into, well, this," he glanced down at himself for emphasis. "You're not gonna go to the press and tell the world, are you? Because no one is supposed to know about us. You know, for safety reasons."

Samson saw fear and worry pool into the turtle's deep lively eyes, darkening them. They now appeared wistful; searching for some consolation in confidence. "Your secret's safe with me, Michelangelo," he assured the young ninja.

His eyes changed immediately to joy and relief, "Wow, thank you so much. I knew that we could trust you. You're just like your grandmother. I'm sure she's proud of you right now. I'm not sure why she never told you our secret though. You always seemed like a pretty good kid to me. Well, whatever her reason was I guess we'll never know now," the turtle's head lowered as he spoke.

Samson stared at the orange-masked head in surprise, "What did you just say?" His mind started spinning again with more questions. His Gran knew all along? _She knew what they were and never told me? Why? He has to be mistaken_._ She would've never lied to me._

"I said -" Mikey began and suddenly interrupted himself. "Hey, didn't you say that they were on 33rd street somewhere near block six? How come we haven't seen them yet? I think I'm on the wrong street," Michelangelo banked the car towards an alley.

Samson cursed when his head knocked the glass and the seatbelt choked him back into the seat from the jolt. "Watch it!" He complained as the car flew towards a group of figures that were standing in Mikey's self-made shortcut. They dived out of the path of the flying vehicle and Mikey slammed down on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt.

"What in God's name is wrong with you?" Samson nerves were completely frayed by now.

"We found them," Mikey piped cheerfully. "My bros, they're all here. Heh, Heh. I almost flattened Leo there. That was a close call," he sighed in relief.

"Well good for you," Samson said sardonically as he jumped out of the vehicle; only to find himself surrounded by four figures. He blinked a couple times before trying to come to terms with what he was seeing. One of them looked like a poorly constructed 'Darth Vader.'

"Stalking us again, I see," Raphael noted, playing with the tip of a stained sai.

Samson ignored him and stepped away from the car as if it carried the plague.

"Mikey, I thought I told you to keep an eye on him?" Leonardo berated his sibling who was climbing out of the sedan.

Clutching his arm to his chest, he grinned at the bossy turtle. "I did, but we accidentally ran into a little trouble. We walked in on those guys that planned the heist. The real mastermind behind this whole mess was some guy working with both Foot ninja and the Purple Dragons. He's probably pretty pissed right now because I think I broke his back," he laughed. "Some of them tried to chase us, but I lost 'em with _my mad_ driving skills and now we're here. These our impersonators?" He asked looking over the men dressed in weird green clothes from head to toe.

"Yeah," 'Darth Vader' answered. "They weren't good actors so we fired them," the man drew a bat out from under his cape and dropped it into the palm of his hand. The motion created a kind of smacking sound, like the gum he molded between his teeth.

Naturally, Mikey laughed at the statement while Donatello moved closer to him and hovered over his left arm. "Mikey, what happened to your arm?"

Mikey glanced down at his hand and ducked his head, "I dunno. I think I sprained it. It hurts worse than a sprain, you know. That's weird, huh? It's actually swollen, I think I need ice."

Donatello raised his naked brows at him and unglued his brother's arm from his plastron. "You clown, you fractured your arm," the purple masked ninja shook his head at his horrified brother.

"You mean I need a cast. That sucks. I need my two hands to finish off level ten of-" Mikey's voice was cut off by Raph's voice.

"I don't want to hear any more talking coming from your mouth, got it," he waited for Mikey to nod in return and turned to Samson. "We called the cops for these guys so basically you're home free," he explained.

Samson stood in their midst like an awkward stranger or possibly the third wheel, and a sense of betrayal pierced his skin with eager hungry claws. Gloria knew and she never told him. He blinked before he acknowledged the turtle's words. "You don't really expect to get a _thank you_ from me, do you?" He crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly.

The five of them snorted and Raphael shook his head, turning to walk away. "I don't give shit what you do. I'm not begging you for anything, dickhead."

The man in the 'Darth Vader' costume chuckled, "You should've just said thanks, man. You might've gotten a better response."

Leonardo sighed heavily and bowed at the man, "Please accept our apologies for causing you so much trouble. I promise you won't see or hear from us ever again."

Samson simply nodded in return, accepting the apology, but still wanted to know how many secrets his grandmother kept from him. He believed that these mutants were the first of many. By the time he opened his mouth to ask, the blue masked turtle had left his presence.

"You should go home. The cops would be here soon," Donatello said, casting a wary glance around him. "See ya," he moved swiftly, leaving Samson with the lingering trouble maker. 'Darth Vader' too had left and a distant voice was calling Mikey's name.

He swallowed, shifting from one foot to the other awkwardly, "I take it you're pretty mad at me?" He asked, pausing for a moment to figure out what expression he was seeing on the human's face. "I guess you would be, heck, even my brothers are mad at me. If I hadn't dragged them out here, then none of this would've happened," he allowed silence to sneak in again before continuing. "Is there perhaps a small chance that you'll find it in your really awesome heart of yours to forgive me, for even the slightest bit?" the turtle made a space between his thumb and forefinger to show the amount he was talking about, and a hopeful expression was etched on his face.

"I'm not mad _at_ you," Samson stated, searching his memories for something. A clue perhaps; one that indicated Gloria's hidden knowledge of the mutants.

"That's awesome! I'm really glad that you're not mad at me. It means a lot to me. I'm really sorry for almost getting you killed and almost turning you into a fugitive. I'll never do that again. I swear on my honor," the turtle beamed cheerfully. "Wait, you said that you're not mad _at_ me; who are you mad at then? Is it one of my brothers? Is it Raph? I bet it's Raph."

The orange-masked ninja's name echoed through the alley, bouncing off the walls with other colorful words from Raphael's vocabulary. Grinning sheepishly, the turtle flinched.

"She never told me," Samson said finally; not entirely listening to what Mikey was saying.

"What?" Mikey was surprised by the statement, and swallowed air as he absorbed what the young man meant.

"Gran never told me that she knew the truth about you guys, why?" he raised his head to look into Mikey's eyes, hoping for a reasonable explanation.

"Oh, about that," the terrapin rubbed the back of his head, "She was- she was going to tell you. I think we were seven at the time...you were ten, but something happened." Mikey's tone sounded crushed and he fidgeted with the fingers on his damaged arm. "Something happened; something that Master Splinter didn't like and he got all upset about it. I don't remember what it was exactly, but he flipped out and told her to forget about us. He said that it was better if you two had never met us," he finished sadly.

Samson searched his memory as Mikey spoke, trying the recall if he ever saw the rat angry. He came up with nothing. His mind was void of the event as if it never occurred. "What are you talking about, Michelangelo?"

Mikey's name came again; his brothers were still waiting on him.

"Listen, I gotta go. My brothers are waiting for me and the cops will be here soon," Mikey's speech was rushed and hesitant. "It wasn't your grandmother's fault, she only did what she thought was best for you, I'm sure about that. She probably didn't think that it'd matter anymore since we were never going to see each other again."

The twenty year old mused over the idea in his head and held his tongue. _What had happened? Where was I when it did? What is he not telling me?_

"What would upset your father so much? Where was I when all that happened?" he asked.

Mikey shrugged, "I think you and Raph were playing in your room."

Samson frowned in frustration and opened his mouth to ask another question, but the turtle was already making his way to the fire escape.

"It was nice meeting you again, Samson. I have to go, bye!" He looked over his shoulder once, flashing a wide smile and melted into the shadows.

Then on, Samson knew that he was never going to see the mutants again. Leonardo had made that promise to him and that particular turtle held fast to his commitments. He shook his head regretfully; wishing that he had gotten the chance to find out more about why they stopped coming for Halloween. He secretly missed the strange group. He and Gloria only had each other in the world and the five Halloween visitors became the woman's adopted family on the very night she invited them into her home. They didn't know this, but Samson did. He knew that deep down in his heart, his Gran felt lonely. She shouldn't've felt that way; she had her grandson, but there were times when she commented on them being lonely as a family. Samson's heart sank at the thought. He didn't see it that way. He had her and she had him. That was what made the difference. Whether it was just two of them on earth or, in the turtles' case, five of them in existence, they were never truly alone for they had each other. Smiling, Samson strode out towards the street to make his journey home.

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><p>[<strong>1<strong>] River Styx - Styx - Greek for hate. In Greek mythology this is the river that formed the boundary between Earth and the Underworld (aka Hades, which is also the name of the domain's ruler.) Wikipedia writes. If you don't believe me, then Google it. If you don't trust Wiki then I'd refer you to a book I have here...but nah. : P

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><p><em>I apologize; I really didn't want to split up this chapter. (^_^)<em>

_If I didn't mention it before, this was originally a One-shot. Now it's a Long-shot! Oh well._

_I have to say thanks to AlexHamato for her inspiration! Do you like Mikey's rescue efforts? (^_^) _

_And thanks for reading guys. _

_I think I may add one final chapter if the suspense is too much..._

_Until then, Laterz!_


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